In Bad Faith
by Slayer Anderson
Summary: I never pretended to know what I was doing in my last life. Why should I pretend to know anything about this one? Well, the other option is a horrific and bloody death, so...I better start learning how to be a witch. OC Self-Insert/Draco's Younger Sister.
1. Chapter 1

Slayer Anderson

In Bad Faith

A Harry Potter Self-Insert

06/07/2013

Summary: Do you know what separates a dream from a nightmare? It turns out the line between them is fine, so fine and thin that you can stand with one foot on either side without strain.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I've heard it refer to as "That Most Egregious of Sins: The Self-Insert;" and I'm writing one. Joy. I suppose this is a response to reading several very well-written self-insertion stories recently...and several not-very-well written ones as well. Then, I had that great thought (you know, the one that occurs when you see a great badass scene in an action movie) that, arrogantly, 'Hey, I can do that!' Yes, I know, very humble. At any rate, because I'm evidently a closet masochist, I decided to make a fictional personification of myself _really suffer_...

The result is this charming (yeah, right) piece of crap which is taking time away from more successfully and popular pieces of crap. In addition to being arrogant, though, I am also shameless and would like to insert a little advertisement for DC Phantom and Marvel Phantom, my other active stories on this site...you might like them if you're a Danny Phantom fan. In the meantime, enjoy...

~Slayer Anderson

* * *

Chapter 1 – Ill-Starred

* * *

_...It's hard to hate someone once you understand them._

-Lucy Christopher

* * *

Death.

Cold.

They seem to go hand in hand, don't they? Everyone I've heard wax poetic on the end of life has always put forth the idea of a creeping chill crawling up you extremities, clawing at your heart until it suddenly...stops. I won't say they're wrong, because dieing seems like an intensely personal process to me...and the physical remains of an individual do seem to grow cold after death, losing the warm breath of life that was bestowed on it after your passing. In my experience, death is not cold...death is warm.

The transition was fast, happening in the blink of an eye.

Then, I couldn't take another breath, feel my heart beat, or notice the blood in my veins. I couldn't see, I couldn't move, I couldn't even feel really.

I was just...warm.

It was a sensation which suffused my very being, seeming to come from within and without at the same time. In the sudden darkness, completely withdrawn from any 'real' stimuli, I suppose I should have been afraid. Despite these facts, I was so utterly comfortable in this...place? Time? Space? Void? I was so at home that I drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

And awoke to screaming.

It took me a moment of startled alarm to realize it was my own.

I have to admit that realization scared me more than anything else that comes to mind, even now. To explain why that is...is difficult, I'll admit. To put the situation in proper perspective, imagine the situation as I've explained it: you are encapsulated in an all-encompassing warmth that promises safety, security, and protection; then, you are ripped from that warmth and pushed, roughly, into a cold and unforgiving world of harsh lights and blurry images mixed with ill-defined sounds.

And you can't control the fact that you are screaming.

Throughout my life, control of my body had been sacrosanct, something inviolate and unalienable. To realize, rather abruptly, that you can no longer do something so basic as to stop yourself from crying out?

That thought rips the last remnant of self control from you.

And then I _wanted _to cry.

It took me an unjustifiable amount of time to realize what had happened.

In retrospect I can attribute this to two factors: one, the unbelievability of the reality of my situation. There are some 'explanations' which people...or at least modern, logical, adults, disregard out of hand. No matter what an individual may espouse belief in...be it fate, destiny, or God, if the explanation is absurd enough, it doesn't even come up for consideration.

I live in terror of actually having to explain anything comprehensive about my life to _anyone_, mainly because I can't really 'explain' any of it. Nothing important, at least. No whys or hows, no divine mandate from a semi-omnipotent power...

The second reason why it took so long to come to terms with the reality of the situation is related to that lack of proof, either material or insubstantial. At first I was convinced I was either suffering from some kind of delusional episode, psychotic break, or that I had suffered some kind of traumatic brain injury.

I was convinced that it wasn't real.

_Because it couldn't be._

In an abstract way, I suppose I acknowledged the possibility of the paranormal, but never considered it to have any real, practical application or effect on my life. I've entertained the notion of zombies, ninja, vampires...

Hell, I read _Twilight _back when I was a teenager.

The important part, though, is that I didn't really _believe _in them, or, if I did, I didn't consider that any of them would or could have interact with me in any way, shape, or form. Coming to terms with the fact that the supernatural _did_ involve itself in my life? Even if this was some byproduct of an unrelated cosmic event?

Easier said than done.

Ultimately, I suppose I can sum up my circumstances in one word.

Reincarnation.

Or, at least, that's the most appropriate word I can think of. I'm not Buddhist, but...I suppose I wouldn't need to be, now would I? Putting aside the religious connotations, though, I do have to wonder at the fact that I've retained my memories...which would imply that either someone made a mistake 'upstairs,' I'm the victim (or beneficiary) of a fluke of epic proportions, or...

Well, the idea that I was put _here _in _this _life, intentionally?

Not a very comforting thought, given the implications of such.

I suppose I've waxed poetic on life, death, and the universe enough, thought, haven't I?

And, silly me, I haven't even introduced myself yet.

Please though, no jokes, I've made more than enough, especially seeing as how I used to be _male_ and am now most decidedly _female_. I actually don't like thinking about 'that' much, for reasons I'm sure you understand and will, instead, skip ahead to the more...interesting parts of my life, with only passing commentaries on the...ahem, 'joys' of infancy.

I'm Desdemona Galatea Malfoy.

_Daughter_ of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

Sister to Draco Abraxus Malfoy.

Proud heiress to a long line of traditional pure-blood ideology, cold-blooded murder, and the hoarding of political enfranchisement.

I am _so proud_ of my family, in case you couldn't tell.

And, yes, in case you missed it, Desdemona is a _girl's name_, and something I'd rather not think about too hard, if you get my drift.

Although, in a kind of horrible perverse way that makes me more than a bit ashamed to admit it, I am proud of my family. I also completely understand if you think that makes me a horrible person. At this point in my life, I'm honestly not really sure if I can bring myself to care anymore; I know, objectively, that my 'father' probably qualifies for the title of Mass Murderer, but when you live with someone everyday for over a decade and depend on them for your every need and want...

It gets very, _very _hard to hate them.

My first real memories, after my eyes developed enough to see properly and my ears developed enough to hear properly, are of my 'mother' holding me. Honestly, after six months, I had more or less come to terms with my situation and the fact that this, whatever it was, was becoming less and less likely to be a dream or delusion or a coma or something.

Ultimately, I decided that I would live my life as if it were real.

Because...well, realistically, what choice do I really have?

If I someone offers me a red pill or a blue pill one day?

I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

I will admit that, as much as I sometimes hoped I would wake up back in my own bead or in a hospital room, those instances have become fewer and fewer as I've spent more time in my new world, with my new family...although there is the occasional sting of betrayal when I think of Narcissa and Lucius as 'mom' and 'dad.'

...well, 'mother' and 'father.'

And for those of you who still don't believe me? You remember when I mentioned those first memories? Yeah, it gets really hard to fear someone when they sing you to sleep night after night. It gets hard to hate someone after they're there for you every time you wake up crying from a nightmare you can't remember. It get hard to remember all those terrible sins when someone wakes up in the middle of the night to change your diaper.

Infancy is embarrassing, humiliating, messy, and a whole slew of other things that I really would rather not mention.

My point is, Narcissa and Lucius were there for me, in a way only parents could be.

As much as I believed I already had parents, I eventually started to realize there was a certain 'debt' that existed between myself and my new parents. The Malfoys had, knowingly or unknowingly, extended an unreserved welcome to me and I couldn't exactly repay them with the cold shoulder.

That didn't mean being a 'child' came naturally to me, though.

One day I'd like to ask my parents what they thought of me, considering their experiences with my older brother.

Ah, yes...Draco, how could I forget?

Draco was nearly a full year older than me and very much a needy and clingy baby. In that respect, at least, I was probably a relief for my parents. It was easy to see the budding start of selfishness and arrogance in the small child, though I tried to turn a blind eye to his grabbing hands and temper tantrums...it wasn't like I was in any position to apply discipline, anyway. Still, at the first sign of distemper, Narcissa...mom, would shower the child in almost anything to get him to quiet.

Given the harried and panicked look in her eyes, the slightly frayed ends of her normally-immaculate hair, and the nervous tics that she usually suppressed, it was easy to see these were the actions of a first-time mother rather than someone trying to willfully distort and deform a child's ability to interact with other children.

Yes, mom was very much the picture of a scheming, evil matron of an Ancient and Noble House during those years. These scenes were actually the greatest source of amusement for me during the early years of my second childhood, especially because they usually presaged magic.

Magic.

If anything is worth the insanity of my new life, the trauma of realizing I had _died_, and the terror of realizing who my parents were...it was magic.

Narcissa would often levitate various colorful baby toys around either Draco or myself and I have never before been so enthralled by anything. I suppose this was the first time I thought about doing magic myself, too...as well as the possibility that I might _not _be able to do magic at all.

And that was the greatest scare I'd gotten since I died.

Given the majority of stories I'd read tended to demonize the Malfoys, the idea that I might (and considering my 'origins' I considered this a _probability _rather than a_ possibility_) not be able to do magic, that I was a squib, terrified me beyond rational thought. The more lurid and grimdark tales I'd looked at tended towards blood sacrifice and slavery as an eventuality in the Malfoy family.

And it was that momentary burst of fear, not entirely irrational, that probably had something to do with what happened next...

All of the windows in the west wing of Malfoy Manor exploded outwards.

Between my fear, my surprise, and the ensuing (not entirely voluntary on my part) temper tantrum, it took several days for me to realize that 'I' had caused the micro-disaster. In fact, it was my parents who actually pointed it out and, even then, it took several hours to penetrate my sometimes-thick skull that I...well, that I had superpowers.

Yes, laugh it up, I don't care.

In the mind of a proud anime nerd, comic book geek, and overall fantasy freak, magic equals superpowers. That's just how it goes. Granted, there are sets of powers that I would prefer, but beggars can't be choosers and, particularly in this setting, with _these _parents, I was devoutly grateful to be a witch...

Yeah, that whole 'different gender thing' still unnerves me a bit.

While not particularly 'cold' towards mom and dad, I had to intentionally remind myself to occasionally reach out for hugs and affection, not the least of reasons was because I tended to get lost in my own little world. If I had to pick a single word to describe my second childhood? It would probably be 'intent.' I was always studying my surroundings, gazing at things with such focus I think my parents must have noticed something was a little 'off' with me.

I was very quiet as a child, forgoing much of the babbling and cooing common to newborns in favor of silent observation, especially after I figured out exactly who my new parents were. Given that I already understood 'their' language (barring a few colloquialisms which were unfamiliar, honestly who uses 'biggie' to mean 'poo?'...and I don't think anything else quite shattered my image of Narcissa as a stuck up pure-blood wife than the realization that she indulged in baby talk), it was fairly easy to analyze their conversations and pick up interesting tidbits.

For the first few years of my life, Lucius was a distant father figure and I only saw him when at the dinner table or a few scattered instances of tucking me in at night.

I have no doubt that many people think of my father, of Lucius, as an arrogant and cold person, beyond merely 'human' emotions and sensibilities. Much like my first few years with my mother, my first impressions of Lucius shattered that image. In retrospect, I shouldn't have been surprised; Lucius, for all the fact that he was a murderous monster, was also a human being. Even if that cold mask of indifference was a real aspect of his personality, it wasn't all there was to him.

It would be nice if monsters were so simple.

It would be nice if I could forget the bone-tired weariness that I remember seeing in my father's eyes those first few years. It would be nice if I could forget the moment I realized _why _he always looked so tired, so utterly exhausted. But, this isn't a nice, simple world with wicked witches and handsome princes ripped from a disney-esque fairy tale. No, this world is more like the older, dark, and meaner fairy tales...

I suppose that was my wake up call.

Well, one of them, anyway.

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

I suppose there are worse worlds to be born into.

And, even if it might not seem like it, there are worse lives to be born into too.

For instance, I could have been born an Ikari, a Saotome, a Hellsing, or even a Dresden. Given what those families go through, I'd have given suicide very long and serious consideration. Granted, while the last name 'Malfoy' isn't a harbinger of great things, there are worse fates, even in the world of Harry Potter.

And let's not even start with how weird it is to live in a _fictional world named after a single individual_.

Well, for a given value of 'fictional.'

But still, magic!

It was a bit of a let down that my mother inched her wand out of the way every time I made a clumsy and fat-fingered grab for it, smiling as she admonished me.

"Now, now Dezzy, that's not for you. That's mommy's wand, you'll get your own later~"

Her voice was musical, lilting, and happy in a way I had never imagined it could be. Normally, that would have probably garnered a tantrum from a child my age, however I graciously allowed myself to be soothed with a song and a bottle of milk. To this day, I thank whatever incarnation of the Abrahamic God or pagan deity was involved in Narcissa's decision not to breast feed her children.

I think that would have probably broken my mind.

And, yes, my childhood nickname was Dezzy.

I'll wait for your laughter to subside.

Honestly, the moment I heard the name 'Malfoy,' I'd thought I was going to be saddled with a name that was equally as monstrous as Draco's...and I was largely correct. Desdemona is the kind of name I'd imagine for a Saturday morning cartoon villain, though 'Dezzy' is the hilarious baby name that someone brings up during your sixteenth birthday party that ensures no one ever takes you seriously again.

Kind of like 'Dray-dray.'

As a newly minted younger sister, I hereby swear that my older brother's nickname will come back to haunt him in a public setting, with witnesses, in the most reputation-damaging way possible.

...maybe I might fit in with the Malfoys after all.

* * *

I make no apologies.

I suppose I'm a masochist at heart, to write something like this, especially for my own enjoyment.

At any rate, I know I should be working on other stuff, but, again, this stuff is for my own fun, even if I am indulging in a horrible cliche of fanfiction writers everywhere.

Ah well, I suppose the maxim of 'everybody gets one' holds up here as well as anywhere else.

Peace Out ~ Slayer Anderson


	2. Chapter 2

Slayer Anderson

In Bad Faith: Chapter 2

A Harry Potter Self-Insert Fanfiction

06/17/2013 (EDIT: 10/11/2013)

* * *

Chapter II – Play Dates

* * *

As young children, my brother and I didn't play with each other very much.

Draco was always a more physical child, whereas I was always curled up in a corner with a wizarding book of fairy tales or children fiction. That isn't to say Draco developed faster than I did, though. Despite being almost a year younger than him, I was up and walking around the same time he was, much to the surprise of both my parents. Similarly, I spoke my first word only days after Draco had, demanding with an imperious stare that my mother hand me Beadle the Bard with the single utterance, "Story."

Looking back, I consider it deeply ironic for various reasons.

For those of you who are curious, Draco's first word was, "No."

...can any of you honestly say you're surprised? Draco's first love was the word 'no.' He used that word so much it eventually became one of the few things that could make me 'fake' a crying fit just to get away from the little snot. Still, for all the fact that there were moments in which I despised Draco's very existence, there were also moments I was deeply thankful for having an 'older' sibling.

For most of my early days, I used Draco as my measuring stick for my behavior. When do I take my first steps? My first word? Read my first books? I'd grown extraordinarily disenchanted with the whole 'infancy' thing long ago and was desperate to retake even a shred of my independence. It didn't matter if it was running, reading, or crawling, the ability to do something under your own power is a gift you don't appreciate until you've lost it.

So, Draco was older...

I let him crawl first.

I let him speak the first word.

I spent an eternity waiting for him to take his first steps.

That isn't to say I wasn't without my own failures. I would stumble or fall a bit, just far less than I imagine other children did. Thankfully, mother had decided to put up cushioning charms throughout most of the "Childrens' Wing" of the house.

Two things, here:

First, as you might have understood, magic is awesome. I had my diapers changed by magic (thankfully). I had a potion put on my gums to relieve the pain from teething (mercifully). If I ever got filthy or dirty? Magic...and then a bath. What can I say, the Malfoys were neat freaks.

Second, yes, Childrens' Wing. Draco and I had an entire _wing of the house_ exclusively for ourselves. If that doesn't explain adequately how 'well off' my new family was, I'm not sure I can illustrate the point further. We actually had separate rooms when we were just babies, which was a little jarring to realize coming from my upper-middle-class background and a fairly frugal lifestyle. Most of my first experiences with Draco, at least until I could get up and move around, were in the playroom, where we would "socialize" with each other.

Yes, mother actually used that word.

I won't lie, it was hard waiting for Draco to do what I was certain I could already, but if I wanted to maintain the image of being anything close to a 'normal' child, then I desperately needed this initial impression to sink in. Even putting aside the fact that I had demonstrated accidental magic, and therefore could not be considered a squib, taking too many steps too fast would force too much attention my way.

I was probably being overly cautious, but this was world had numerous skilled mind-readers on record.

Which was obviously on my 'to do list'...

Occulmency, Leglimency, Magical History, Politics, etc...this was a whole new world for me, one that I needed to hit the ground running in. Given that I'd read hundreds (if not thousands) of variations on this story, knew all the dirty little secrets, and knew all the major powers and players, I needed to be able to protect that knowledge and move on it quickly when the time called.

And speaking of major powers and players.

There was Voldemort and Dumbledore, I knew.

And then there was Harry Potter, who was, despite so many fan stories would be Dumbledore's Man until either died. Of course, that was disregarding the possibility that I was in a non-standard setting. Who knows, maybe Dumbledore was evil in this world? Maybe the Knights of Walpurgis had a point behind their whole ethnic cleansing campaign of pure evil? Heck maybe the Ministry of Magic was actually competent in this world and was, in fact, playing Voldemort and Dumbledore against each other in some insane Machiavellian plan for a new totalitarian regime.

I began laughing (which was most decidedly not childish giggling), at the thought of a competent ministry.

Yeah, right, and the Dursleys might actually be a good foster family.

Even if there was something I could do before I got to Hogwarts, which would be during the Chamber of Secrets year, it was unlikely to be worth the risk of revealing myself. That meant Harry would stay with the odious individuals he had never called 'family,' Sirius would stay in Azkaban, and Voldemort's horcruxes would stay where they were for at least another decade. I could rationalize this all I wanted, but ultimately it came down to one thing.

I was afraid.

I was terrified.

In my prior life, no one had depended on me, not really. I didn't have kids, I wasn't in charge of any younger siblings (not as a provider, anyway), and I didn't have any older relatives who would live or die by my hand. In this world, knowing what I did, it was quite possible that a single mistake could doom...

Hundreds?

Thousands?

If Voldemort attained his goal and established a hereditary mageocracy fascist government, then the English magical world, and possibly the whole of Europe, was doomed to a permanent future as a totalitarian slave state that would make Orwell blush. If I did absolutely nothing, was careful to make no impact on the 'story' at all, then my effect on this world just _might be negligible enough _that Harry would walk in his own footsteps and win in exactly the same way his 'fate' had foretold. Those were the two extremes: do anything and fail, do nothing and watch it play out in front of me.

Talk about performance anxiety.

Talk about temptation.

I won't lie and say I wasn't tempted. Almost anyone would be, if they entertained the notion for even a moment. I was a Pure-blood elite, part of the family that bankrolled Lord Voldemort himself. Short of replacing the Dark Lord himself, I couldn't climb any higher. If Voldemort established himself as dictator of the magical world, my father would be his left hand, the political face of the regime. As a result, I could expect a life of leisure (barring the possibility of a politically-motivated marriage) in the style and form of the obscenely rich.

Theoretically, my family would have its future permanently secured.

Theoretically, at least.

There were a few things that stopped me from making this choice. One was my own, personal, estimation of Voldemort.

He was batshit insane.

That's a technical term, in case you didn't know.

Looking over the decisions which he makes during the book series, there is a large (but debatable) amount of evidence that Voldemort is actually insane. I'm not referring to his 'kill all muggles' obsession, either. I'm referring to his operation doctrine; Voldemort is so classically 'evil' that when you consider him as a real person...not as a character in a book series, but as an _actual person_, you have a hard time believing that kind of unreasonable, non-logical mentality is real.

Granted, he's still an amateur when compared with the industrialized slaughter Hitler and Stalin implemented, but...

The average person never expects to confront that type of Evil in their everyday existence.

Ultimately, I decided that Voldemort had to die.

Pick any reason you want. He couldn't be trusted. He was a sociopath. There was so little 'human' left in him that it would be less murder and more putting down a mad dog. He couldn't be trusted not to destroy the very thing he claimed to protect.

For me? I realized that helping him would be signing up under Adolf Hitler in 1933 knowing full well the outcome of his zeal and insanity. I would be looking over the graves of six million dead jews, homosexuals, vagrants, mentally disabled...and trying to justify that using a grab for political power.

I guess, when it came down to it?

I'm just not that evil.

So, unless Voldemort had actual proof that he was trying to save the world by killing 'undesirables,' then he was going down.

I cemented my vow with naptime.

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

I gurgled slightly, a young child's approximation of a sigh.

It was so damned _easy _to think of this as a story.

Input action A within plot B, get result C. I was a writer, things like that came naturally to me; I expected a plot and characters to bend to my will through sheer force of effort.

In a way, I was used to being a god among super-humans.

There were dozens of stories which painted a semi-plausible story of child-heroes, and it was easy, so ridiculously easy, to forget that this wasn't a story that I could control the outcome of. If I wanted a happy ending, I'd have to work for it.

And that meant I'd have to stop thinking like a manipulative, omnipotent god...

...and start thinking like a one-year-old behind enemies lines.

I didn't have an invincible screen between myself and my actions. I had done a good job restraining myself up to this point, but I needed to continue. The absolute earliest I could make a _move_ was during my first year at Hogwarts, anything else was too risky. I needed to establish myself as the youngest child of the Malfoy family. I needed habits, hobbies, interests, all the trappings of a life lived as normally as possible.

I needed to stop being a twenty-five-old, male, American graduate student...

...and start being Desdemona Malfoy.

With that thought, I put all scheming behind me...or tried to, at least, and set my mind on the present. I was in Nar..._mother's_ arms, a sensation which had, at some point without my knowing, become synonymous with _safe_ in my mind.

And wasn't that a shock?

But, at any rate, mother had decided that either I was fit for socialization or that other babies besides Draco were now fit to socialize with me. I was unsure of the real reason as to why it had taken this long for my parents to introduce me to even a select group of friends, but...well, given some of their names, I could make a few educated guesses.

After all, it was easy to forget that I was born only _months_ after the Dark Lord's fall, given that my birthday was May 17, 1982...

On a side note, birthday parties for a one-year-old? Especially one that is effectively twenty-six?

No. They are messy, horrible, traumatizing experiences that I may have purged from my mind one day.

...but anyway, my point is that my first 'social experience' happened a year and a half after Lord Voldemort was 'defeated.' Given the guest list for my first birthday party, I imagine that many of the families had better things to do than play with children.

Like bribe government officials.

And commit perjury.

Speaking with complete honesty, the individuals involved in my first exposure to 'proper pure-blood society' were a who's who of Death Eaters. Note that I don't tag the word 'former' onto that appellation. Lucius Malfoy, my father, was still a Death Eater or, at least so close ideologically that it didn't make any difference. I've said it before, and I'll probably say it again, the man is a monster that talked about 'Muggle Baiting' the same way many normal people talk of an afternoon at the cinema.

But he's my father.

Keeping him alive might actually be the hardest thing I ever do.

"...and you've already met Draco, but I don't think I've introduced the newest addition to our family. This is Desdemona Malfoy."

"She's just darling, Narcissa. Look, Amycus, she has Lucius' eyes just like little Draco," A smiling brunette woman said as she looked over me from where I was being held in my mother's arms and it took a moment to place both the name and face.

She didn't look exactly like her movie counterpart, the hair being a slightly different color and her facial structure slightly...off in a way that I can't adequately describe. Ultimately, though, I could vaguely recognize the giant of a woman that stood before me.

The vaguely disinterested face of Amycus Carrow moved into my scope of vision and he, too, looked slightly different from the actor who'd played him in the last few Harry Potter movies. "Yes dear, absolutely darling, though I've yet to see this 'spark of genius' Lucius gushed over so."

_Oh dear, this is worrisome on so many levels..._

Mother laughed lightly, "I find it hard to believe my husband _gushes _over anything, Amycus. If you really must know, though, she's been developing awfully fast. She's already speaking, in fact."

_Yes, that's me, the amazing parrot, I take payment in peanuts and degrading childish compliments._

"Really?" Amycus asked, his eyes as sharp as a bird of prey.

"Yes, here..." Mother leveraged me up to where I could more easily look at the strangers, rather than merely look up at them. "Look Dezzy, this is Amycus Carrow and his wife Alecto. Can you say their names?"

_I take it back, I'm not a parrot, I'm a monkey. A preforming monkey._

I looked up at my mother, twisting my head to show her an irritated pout.

Narcissa blinked, looking wonderingly at me before smiling sweetly. "Please, honey? Just this once and then you can go read?"

My irritation subsided as I looked back to the expectant couple. Amycus looked, if possible, even more curious now. "Well, little one?"

I swallowed and focused. Talking wasn't exactly something I was 'good' at yet, not quite having the fully-developed vocal cords to pronounce complex words, but this I could do. I thought about disappointing my mother for a moment, but decided otherwise. Something told me that this was...important. Besides, what was the harm in being thought of as an exceptionally bright child?

_I have a feeling I'm going to regret this._

"A-my-cus," I said carefully. His eyes widened as I pointed a stubby baby-fat finger at him, then at his wife. "A-lec-to."

Their open mouths almost made my little 'performance' worth it. My laughter (again, not childish giggling) brought an embarrassed flush to Amycus' face.

"If you're through amusing my daughter, A-my-cus," Lucius drawled, his tone somewhere between his vicious sneer and an honest smile, "Crabbe and Goyle are in the drawing room."

Okay, I had to admit, that was a pretty good one.

"Indeed," Amycus nodded, visibly swallowing a barbed insult. "About my proposal, by the way? Have you considered it?"

My father's and Amycus Carrow's voices drifted off as they walked away.

"Indeed, I think we can come to an adequate agreement. Let's leave our wives to the children and we can talk more over a glass of wine." Lucius replied. Distantly, I heard the shutting of a door and the conversation was cut off.

"Very good Dezzy. Such a good girl," mother cooed at me. A part of me wanted to giggle and smile at the affection...another part of me wanted to treat it with disdain.

As Narcissa's fingers ghosted over my stomach, tickling and teasing, the battle was lost.

While I laughed myself into oblivion under my mother's twinkling eyes and Alecto Carrow's grinning visage, I wondered at my own dichotomy. Even as I was writhing in amusement, a part of me was still capable of rational thought. At times like this, I wondered if I was really two different people.

Part of me was definitely a child.

Desdemona Malfoy was a laughing, happy baby that carried a large amount of affection towards her mother and father (I might even call it love, in an abstract sense). She was interested in making her parents proud, making them smile and smiling back...and I'm not exactly sure how to describe it, even today.

Maybe this was an example of...was it Cartesian Dualism?

The mind and brain being two separate entities?

My 'mind,' the insubstantial ephemeral sense of self, personality, and memory that I had accrued over the course of twenty five years, had carried over between lives. It should be obvious that my 'brain,' the actual physical organ of thought, emotion, and memory storage did not.

There is no stranger sensation than the realization that 'I' might not be 'me.'

...if that makes any sense at all.

Finally, mother stopped tickling me and set me down on a large, soft cloth covered in colorful designs, stuffed animals that were enchanted to play and cuddle like they were alive, a stack of childrens' books, and...most surprisingly, two young children.

They had matching brown hair, and looked so similar I knew they had to be twins.

_Okay, if the Carrows are here...oh, these must be their kids. Let's see...I remember two minor characters in the movies...but, did they have names?_

"Here you are honey, why don't you play with Flora and Hestia? I'm sure they'd like to be your friends." Mother smiled encouragingly, setting me halfway between the pile of books and the stuffed animals.

I looked up at her uncomprehendingly, trying as best I could to broadcast my thoughts, which mainly consisted of, 'you're joking, right? You want me to play with two snot-nosed brats?'

I deliberately ignored how arrogant that thought made me sound.

It was a very...Malfoy-ish thought.

Narcissa kept smiling, though it was a bit strained, "Please honey? I'll read you the Hallows story tonight, your favorite, right?"

_Hmm...your bribery is accepted, reluctantly._

With all the grim determination of a convict walking to his death, I leveraged myself up and began to toddle towards the two other children. As I had guessed, they were twins and, though they didn't look much like their movie-counterparts I could see both their parents in them. They were cute, in the way all young children were. Belatedly, I realized that Draco was not here, and my father had mentioned Crabbe and Goyle, which meant...

My heart jumped into my throat with realization.

For some reason I hadn't expected father and mother to treat me like, well...like Draco. I hadn't expected them to go to the same lengths they had with my brother. I'd seen Vincent Crabbe and Greg Goyle around the house once or twice, with their parents, but they'd always been fleeting glimpses as the two were brought in on play dates with my older brother and it had seemed common sense that Lucius and Narcissa had attempted to foster the two under Draco's guidance.

It was probably a combination of molding the two into perfect minions when they were young and honestly needing somewhere to leave their children during the day while they went to work...doing whatever they did.

_Probably wiping my father's ass, just like the two little ones will wipe Draco's when they get older._

But...obviously, my birth had already changed something rather significant.

I had heard my father talking about a business deal with the Carrows. With a sinking feeling, I realized that this was probably part of their 'payment.' Hestia and Flora would probably be in my year at Hogwarts, which meant they were the perfect candidates for my...minions. In all probability, it was more complex than that, with a lot of backroom deals and family alliances, and political b.s, but it amounted to one thing.

I had my very own Crabbe and Goyle.

Joy.

* * *

EDIT: Okay people, I've gotten a few complaints about the Dark Lord's date of Death-by-Baby, so I"ve corrected it. Yes, I know it's a pretty basic thing to screw up, I'm sorry and I repent my horrible sin, but nobody really called me on it until, like, chapter 11, so please, if you've got a beef with anything in the story, talk to me and I'll check and see if I've messed something else up.

ORIGINAL AUTHOR'S NOTE: You know, I've always wondered what I'd do with minions. It's a really good question, when you think about it. What would you do if you were functionally placed in charge of two other human beings as a child? If you had the same upbringing as Draco Malfoy, would you turn out any different than the spoiled-rotten brat he grows up to be?

Anyway, I'm working on other stuff too, but hopefully some people out there like this story. For those who have reviewed, thank you very much for your feedback and I'll try to make things interesting for you.

This is Slayer Anderson,

~Signing Out!


	3. Chapter 3

Slayer Anderson

In Bad Faith Chapter 3

A Harry Potter Self-Insert

06/29/2013

* * *

Chapter III – Where I Was Born And Raised

* * *

There is an expectation that children get into things they shouldn't.

I'm fairly sure you've heard the horror stories about young kids who wandered off and drowned, or got into a cabinet full of drain cleaner, or something like that. Even first time parents know that you can't let a little kid have too much freedom, or they'll paper mache a noose around their necks. I'm happy to say that I wasn't stupid enough to go looking for magical artifacts in _Malfoy Manor_, because...well, I'd overheard my parents talking about blackmail in casual conversation.

I really didn't want to think about the space under the house, where Riddle's journal was hidden.

Besides, mother was a Black and the books had shown the possessed a fairly casual attitude towards leaving dark artifacts out like candy dishes. Given that I had nothing to contradict that knowledge yet, I was extra careful about picking things up. There was one area in which my stringent self-discipline failed me, though.

It was books.

Make no mistake, I'm not Hermione Granger. I can't sit down and read a dense physics text and get anything out of it, I can't read an entire volume and answer a dozen questions by rote, but...

Well, I was going for a graduate degree in my past life, that made me very nearly a professional student. So, while I couldn't memorize some obscure treatise on magical theory, I was very _very _good at parsing the meaning of any given book. It came from a (short) lifetime of reading anything and everything that caught my attention, going to school for two solid decades, and writing several hundred pages worth of academic papers.

All of this love of books carried over to my new life.

Which was why it came as a shock for my mother to find me drawing with a seldom-used art kit, outside, under the bright morning light of a warm spring day. It was only six months since she and father had introduced my two 'friends,' the Carrow sisters. Flora and Hestia came over with their mother regularly, but I had seen them only yesterday, which meant they wouldn't be around for several days more.

"Oh, what a pretty picture." Mother said carefully as I traced the outline of one of the hedgerows. "Dezzy? What are you doing out here? I thought you were in the playroom reading?"

I didn't look up, instead choosing to play the slightly obstinate child. Besides, the sun was warm and I given up art back in middle school last time around. It felt good to, well...'get in touch with my inner child' sounds a little corny, doesn't it?

"Done," I replied, looking back up at the tree I was scratching out with a crayon. Well, it was less a 'crayon' than a colored wax stick, but same difference.

"Done, sweetie? What do you mean, Desdemona? How did you get outside child?" Mother asked, a hint of sternness entering her voice.

"Done reading," I elaborated with care. My diction was slowly increasing as my mastery of the spoken word improved, but I was still hesitant about full sentences and big words. "No more books, got bored."

Understanding dawned on my mother's face, intertwined as it was with surprise. "Oh my, Dezzy, you read _all _of those books?"

"Mmhm," I nodded, and because I felt like distracting her, "Daddy came in to see Draco, left the door open."

A sudden fire danced behind my mother's eyes and I worked hard to swallow a grin.

_Oh, Lucius, you really need to watch out for stuffed animals. There's not telling when one could just 'happen' to block a door. Oops._

I hadn't done it just to be a smart-ass or indulge in a little juvenile rebellion. In some ways, I really needed a break from my parents. I had always been the kind of person to value their time alone, and I'd had barely any of that in over a year. Just sitting out here, drawing, with the sun on my back, that was a kind of balm to my wounds that no one who hasn't lived through 'captivity' would understand.

"Dobby!" Narcissa barked, my mother's eyes narrowed to slits of anger.

I blinked, sitting up as I turned to see a small figure, dressed in a grimy pillowcase. He wasn't _exactly_ like the movie version of his house elf counterpart, but...everything seemed to be slightly off, just a shade or a hair different from what I remembered. It was probably nothing, but...

My inner paranoia begged to differ.

"Watch Desdemona," Narcissa ordered. "She's not to leave the veranda, bring her lunch and juice, and take her back inside, to the playroom in time for her nap."

"Yes Misses Cissy," Dobby nodded, his head flapping so rapidly I'd have mistaken him for a bobble-head.

The house elf disappeared in a 'pop' and reappeared only moments later with a an assortment of finger foods and soft non-chewable things. It was an all too poignant reminder that most of my baby teeth hadn't come in yet and I was still on a restricted diet.

_What I wouldn't give for a nice, greasy cheeseburger..._

Regardless, I smiled up at Narcissa, "Thank you mommy. Thank you Dobby."

Narcissa's anger guttered out under my weaponized cuteness, then she sighed. "Honey, don't thank the house elves, it makes them think above their station."

I blinked, faux-confusion in my eyes. "Like...train station?" There was a book in the playroom which detailed an assortment of funny childish stories on a remarkable facsimile of the Hogwarts Express. Notably, there were no books emphasizing the respective social classes and stations of non-humans.

Well, except for the ones that painted centaurs, merpeople, goblins, and the like as inhuman monsters out to steal your magic.

Narcissa shook her head, opening her mouth to explain, but evidently thought better of it. "No dear, not like 'train station,' I'll explain when you're older. Only say 'thank you' to wizards and witches, not House Elves or Goblins, only people. I'm going to go talk to your father, behave yourself."

"Okay mommy." I watched as my mother left, heading back inside and down the hall. After waiting for a solid minute with no sign of her coming back, I turned to Dobby. Very deliberately, I looked the House Elf in the eyes and spoke.

"Thank you for bringing me lunch, Dobby."

His large eyes got even wider. "On no, Miss Dezzy, Dobby is not needing 'thank you's. Misses Cissy told you not to be saying thank yous to elveses."

"Don't care," I said with finality. "Mommy said 'say thank you to everyone.' Dobby is an 'everyone.' Maybe when mommy is around, can't say 'thank you,' but when mommy and daddy leaves, say 'thank you Dobby.'"

There was something resembling a heartbreaking happiness in the elf's eyes as he opened his mouth to object again.

I beat him to it, holding up a pudgy finger to my lips and 'shushing' the elf. "Secret between Dezzy and Dobby, don't tell mommy and daddy?"

He opened his mouth, denial in his eyes.

"Please?" I asked, desperately.

I could see the 'magic word' break him. It was probably the first time anyone had ever _asked _him to do something instead of _ordering _him to do it. I smiled at him and looked back down the hall, from whence I could vaguely hear my mother's raised voice.

Grinning, I turned back to Dobby and held out one of the soft cookies from my lunch, "Dobby want a cookie?"

The elf reverently took the small pastry, tears in his eyes. Very softly, he smiled, "Thank you, Miss Dezzy."

"Your Welcome, Mr. Dobby," I smiled, breaking out in laughter at his horrified look and stream of objections that 'Dobby is not a mister, Miss Dezzy, please don't be calling him one! Dobby will get in so much trouble!'

As I laughed at his antics, I chalked one point up for me in my crusade to be, if not 'good' then at least better than my family.

_Besides, Lucius has no idea how to treat underlings. Dobby took a knife for Harry without any prompting, that's a brand of loyalty you can't buy. That kind of loyalty is a two-way street. Besides, I like the idea of having a desperately loyal little minion that can bypass the Hogwarts wards and the Private Drive blood wards at my beck and call._

Yeah, like I said, I'm not aiming for 'good,' but you don't have to be good to at least be 'nice.'

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

It was later revealed to me that Alecto Carrow had been appointed my Godmother as a part of tying the Malfoys and the Carrows closer together. I managed to piece together that their family owned a rather large interest in potion ingredients and had been making a bid to supply the Malfoy family's Apothecaries. As I thought, the entire arrangement was a bit more complicated than it first appeared, and things were still being worked out, even as I spent more time in the company of the young twins, attempting to stomach their behavior, lack of conversational skills, and complete absence of the concept of personal space.

In the meantime, pure-blood society was slowly cranking back up as the months ticked by with neither hide nor hair of the Dark Lord being seen.

I frowned.

"Voldemort," I whispered lowly to myself. "His name is Voldemort, not the Dark Lord or any other brown-nosing b.s. Just Voldemort."

_That _had become something to watch, I noted, as I flipped over the last page of _Hogwarts: A History_. More and more I was...absorbing?...certain aspects of my environment. When I spoke now, I had to fight the habit of being overly formal, picking up words that I was learning had egregious connotations, and other little 'gifts' of my upbringing.

I shook myself and went back to my previous train of thought.

Without _Voldemort_, most of the poorer or less politically savvy Death Eaters had been tried, jailed, and forgotten. My father, a handful of others, and a small cadre of unmarked supporters had escaped largely unscathed

I beat back that thought when my father entered the playroom and picked up Draco, who stuck his tongue out at me once Lucius couldn't see, even as my mother came in to leverage me into her arms. Both were in some of their greatest finery for the night's events, wearing robes which had been decorated with gold thread in deep burnt amber hues to celebrate the season.

_I wonder what they would say if I pointed out those are dangerously close to Gryffindor colors._

At any rate, with the coming of the pure-blood society also came the traditional festivals and parties of that same crowd. Last year I had been too young for my family to attend and the wounds of the Wizarding War had been too fresh to really 'party,' but this year...

The great front gardens of the Malfoy Estate (which very oddly looked nothing like either the books' nor the movies' descriptions and gave me something else to worry over) had been decked out in all manner of colors and decorations.

_All very traditional._

Samhain was in full swing, with a guest list encompassing Ministry Officials, friends of the family, and business associates. Many, but not all, wore costumes that varied between the actually frightening (magic can make someone do a very good 'headless' impression) to the plainly ridiculous (a drunk I glimpsed who looked like a Pipi Longstocking reject...a male drunk, I should add).

Mother had explained that they were just costumes and that I shouldn't be scared, they were worn to disguise individuals and prevent fairies or demon-spirits from recognizing them.

Mother and father had settled for dignified masks, allowing us the same decorative garb.

I was honestly more interested in the festival itself.

Two great bonfires had been set up and, if I remembered correctly, represented a kind of ritual purification of those who passed through it, which seemed to be accurate as music kicked up and couples began to cycle through the two gigantic blazes. The music itself was not, as some might believe, the dignified tunes of classical violins, cellos, and others, but rather something more akin to Welsh, Scottish, English, and Irish folk music.

_I wish I knew a bit more about musical history, the presence or absence of a given groups music would tell me a lot about whether or not the traditional British Isles rivalries carry over to their magical counterparts. As it is, I can't tell one from the other..._

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts as I decided to enjoy the festivities and-_oooh, what's that?_

Something in the back of my mind tickled my awareness...

It was a large cow's skull, stripped bare to the bone and decorated with designs and colors that danced across the chalk-white surface. The skull itself was being paraded around by a group of wizards underneath an enormous white cloth.

...this was Mari Lwyd, wasn't it?

The name had taken me a moment to place, my Medieval history not being quite as good as I would like it sometimes. Translated, roughly, to 'gray horse' (some regions maintained a white horse, or mare), this was an addition to some festivals in and around the British Isles. If memory served, the figurine was carried around on a pole and represented...

...a god? Or was it Goddess...something to do with horses?

_What I wouldn't give for google..._

Anyway, the totem was accompanied by a group of celebrants who came along and played various 'roles.' I think the most common were 'Punch and Judy' archetypes, sometimes in blackface, that would carouse around and bully people for food and drink.

Traditionally, it was carried from house to house, but in a Wizarding community, the houses were likely so strewn about that they _couldn't_ hold a proper 'wizarding' celebration due to distance, muggles, or a combination of the two.

_There I go again, non-magicals...at least I'm not calling them mudbloods._

I giggled (yes, I'll admit it this time) as they came closer, even as Draco started whimpering in terror. My mother could barely hold me back as I reached out to touch the large skull, entranced by the witchfire-blue eyes that had been conjured. I was beyond caring about maintaining my status as Desdemona Malfoy and it was all I could do to not start babbling questions.

Draco was bawling with fright.

Father shot a glare at the 'leader' of the procession, the man holding the pole which the cow's skull was attached, and the look in his eyes promised murder (not in any way figurative) if they didn't back off.

As the group of revelers moved off, father foisted the crying child into my mother's arms.

"Narcissa, hush the child," Lucius practically hissed, looking deeply uncomfortable with the bawling toddler.

Mother adopted a put-upon expression and accepted my brother, then leveraged me into my father's arms. "Hold Desdemona, then dear. She seems to be enjoying the celebration, at least, so she shouldn't be a bother."

Disagreement plain on his face, Lucius swallowed the expression before taking me with an uncommon amount of grace and care. Silently, despite the noise of the party around us, Lucius and I regarded each other with a mutual amount of...distaste? Caution? Wariness?

Whatever it was, it was not the natural reaction to holding your own flesh and blood in your arms.

Or, in all fairness, being held by that same flesh and blood.

_Really feeling the love here, 'dad.'_

Lucius managed to swallow his...whatever it was and moved on through the crowd as Narcissa took my older brother to an area set up with toys, games, and a magical boundary that was clearly 'for kids.' For all the fact that my father wasn't enthusiastic about toting me around, he did make the effort of 'showing the baby off,' since this was the first public function or party (beyond the infantile birthday celebration) I'd been in attendance at. So, as the man carried me around, we smooshed.

Lucius, father, was in his glory.

The man was the kind of old-style, born-and-bred politician that the modern world barely ever sees anymore. His silver tongue had silver tongues, he slid effortless between arguments and conversations alike, saying hello to old friends and being introduced to naïve newcomers. At various points he would introduce his daughter, me, to the most recent assemblage of boot-lickers and toadies he found himself in.

The women would coo and baby-talk.

The men would, depending on how drunk they were, gently compliment me or make 'funny' faces.

For those of you who are curious, I made a funny face back.

My best impersonation of Queen Victoria's 'We Are Not Amused,' expression.

Wonder of wonders, father actually cracked a grin at my unimpressed and haughty visage.

_...and this is why I don't go to parties, especially to mingle. Too much noise, too many people that I should know, but don't have any idea who they are, and I get so foul tempered that I can't even enjoy myself._

I better be getting candy or presents out of this later.

Or at least a new book.

"Ah, Severus," father purred, weaving around a political supplicant to meet up with his old 'friend.' Thankfully, Lucius didn't notice the way I froze spectacularly at the name. "I had not thought to see you here, tonight. You've been...distant, lately."

The bird-nosed man, looking younger (maybe that was why things were slightly off?), less sallow, and much more tense, turned towards my father with a good poker face on. "My apologies, Lucius, I have been...busy. You have heard about my...ah, career change?"

Meanwhile, I tried to contain my fear and loathing of the man in general.

I had no way of knowing if he could read 'surface thoughts,' like fanon like to suppose, or if it would be at all effective in this atmosphere.

_Damnit, damnit, damnit-_

"Yes, taken under the wing of such a forgiving and compassionate man as Dumbledore, I can imagine you'd be very busy talking about all kinds of...things," Lucius insinuated carefully.

_What was he...oooh! Father wants to know if dear old Sevvy is a backstabbing traitor who went tattling certain 'secrets.' Dad, if you kill him, it would be an awesome late birthday present._

_ Just saying._

"Indeed," Severus nodded and father tensed at the admission. "More the fool he, that Dumbledore thought I would trade _all _of my chips for shelter."

As father calmed marginally, I translated.

_Yes, I ratted on a bunch of people, but don't be mad dude, 'cause ya'know, bros before hos and all that. You'll always be my one true love Lucy!_

...parties make me really irritable and grouchy, by the way.

There was more to the conversation, and some of it was probably important, but for the life of me I was getting past my ability to give a shit about things at the moment. I did catch snippets, such as Avery nearly going bankrupt keeping himself out of Azkaban, McNair actually having to get a _job_ to support himself (which was worse than going bankrupt, because it meant you weren't behaving according to your station, I gathered).

_Because all proper purebloods actually do is sit around dark rooms plotting nefarious plots..._

And, then, suddenly, I was being handed off to the Potions Master.

"I don't believe you've been formally introduced, Severus. This is your second godchild, Desdemona Malfoy. If you'll excuse me, I think I see Nott going too deeply at the drink again." Lucius frowned, his cloak rippling behind him as he moved off to confront someone I couldn't properly see.

And I was left in the arms of Severus Snape.

The man whom I generally considered the most disagreeable, bitter, and needlessly hateful 'character' in this entire world...

"Well, I don't suppose you'd like to start crying and regurgitate your last meal on my like your brother did when we were first introduced?" Snape asked warily, his dark eyes scanning my form.

I gave him my best baby-glare, directed firmly at his humungous snoz instead of his eyes.

I would like to blame my next action on the idea that, as a child of only one-and-a-half, I could not be blamed for something I just 'blurted out,' but, really, I just didn't like Snape and wanted to insult him. I decided to settle on something suitably childish, yet still biting enough to give me that warm glow of satisfaction.

"Bird Nose," I announced with all the grace and dignity befitting my station.

Snape blinked, honest shock flashing across his face before settling in to a tug of war between amusement, disbelief, and anger. I chalked it up as a win.

"And thus any doubt lingering within me as to your honest parentage vanishes like dust in the wind," Snape snarked.

Deciding to push my luck, I giggled, "Boo hoo, hurt Bird Nose's feelings, boo hoo."

Snape blinked, surprised again as suspicion dawned in his eyes, "Are you mocking me?"

"No," I said, smiling innocently.

Or fiendishly, it could have been either.

"_Hem-hem!_"

Something deep in my reptilian hind-brain recognized that noise, fear and loathing rushing up within me. It took my conscious mind a few seconds to catch up with my instincts, but it clicked soon enough.

_Oh dear sweet god, NO! No, please, anything but that!_

The _pink thing _which entered my scope of vision was every bit as horrible as I had imagined, only more so. Although the next decade and a half had obviously not been as kind to the _pink thing_ as my own parents, instead of looking younger, it merely looked as though its skin was too tight, her eyes fever-bright with madness, and a smile that belonged on a shark, not a human. The abomination was wreathed in so many florid, nauseating shades of a single color that she looked like some terrible kind of inverted rainbow.

And I knew fear.

I knew hatred.

I knew disgust.

"Severus! Good to see you! And who is that you have there?" _The Thing In Pink_ asked, her mouth twisting in a mockery of human speech.

I did the only thing I could.

"This is the Malfoy's youngest, Desdemona," Snape said, his voice betraying some undercurrent of illness and displeasure.

I began to cry.

"And," Severus said, visibly hiding a smile, even to my young eyes, "I think I should get her to her mother. It seems she's been worn out by the party."

"A shame," _The Thing In Pink_ sighed, looking away for a moment and then bouncing in some horrible imitation of giddiness, "Oh my, I must be away, Undersecretary Crouch is calling me."

And then _The_ _Thing In Pink_ was gone.

Snape directed a careful gaze my way, "You can stop crying now, child, she's gone."

My tears evaporated almost immediately as I quivered, "Not she, Bird Nose. Pink Thing. It."

Something fascinating happened to Severus Snape's mouth, then. It twisted and spindled, stretching before it resembled a smile. "...I must concede to wisdom beyond my years. Still, I think it best I get you back to Narcissa, at any rate."

"Don't tell mommy about Pink Thing?" I asked.

"I could have her attend your every birthday, if that is what you really want," Snape asked, deliberately misunderstanding my question.

I pursed my lips.

_Touche, sir. Touche. Very well then, if it is a choice of lesser evils...I am still convinced you are a terrible, bitter shell of a human being that doesn't deserve to be within a mile of a classroom, but...The Thing In Pink is a crime against nature. No contest._

"No Bird Nose," I conceded. "Sev-er-us god-daddy, not Bird Nose."

Severus frowned in mock-contemplation.

"Could spit-up like Dray-dray," I scowled, which on a baby's face translates to a cute pout.

"Deal," Severus said quickly. "Now, lets find you mother before the Pink Thing comes back."

I sighed in relief.

Maybe Snape wasn't quite as horrible a human being as I thought.

Maybe.

_And Maybe I don't have Potter as my last name. I'm going to have to deal with The Thing In Pink, too. Probably go with the Xander Harris route of 'kill it with fire'...maybe I should learn fiendfyre? Good for dealing with horcruxes and destroying evidence, like bodies. Of Things Which Are Not Human._

* * *

These are my actual opinions on characters, by the way. This is a self-insert so I am struggling to represent myself as I actually would react, rather than sugar-coat things. Yes, I am also a bit weird, I don't think going through a reincarnation cycle and coming out as a Malfoy would make things 'better.' So, while I don't really like Snape?

I loathe Dolores Umbridge. I hate her more than Voldemort, actually. In terms of 'evil' the kind of legislation she puts forth and the casual beuracratic evil she espouses might actually do more damage to Wizarding society, long term, than the Dark Lord.


	4. Chapter 4

Slayer Anderson

In Bad Faith Chapter 4

A Harry Potter Self-Insert

07/04/2013

* * *

Chapter IV – Wheat & Chaff

* * *

I was three years old before my parents allowed me into the Malfoy library alone.

Draco would not be allowed into the space, unsupervised, until he was five years old.

There were several reasons for both of these facts, but mostly it boiled down to maturity. Draco was not, and would not be for some time, able to understand the inherent danger of magical knowledge. In my past life, I understood that knowledge was power; any student of history does. In this life, that analogy was more literal, especially when there were several books that wouldn't let you put them down after you picked them up.

And boy, were there books.

And boy, was I irritated that I could only read a small fraction of them.

Here's the thing that no one thinks about when they're writing a story about Harry Potter getting access to an awesome library with esoteric magical tomes of immense power: pureblood family libraries are old. How old, you may ask? The Malfoy Estate predates the _United Kingdom of Great Britain_, the Malfoy family library _predates William the Conqueror_.

Now Modern English, that is, English as we know it, only dates back to the late-fourteen hundreds, before that people spoke Middle English. Middle English's late period bears some passing familiarity with our modern tongue and written word. If you don't think about what you're reading or care about spelling much, you can parse most of the meaning without too much trouble...of the words that you can recognize...which might be about half. If you were reading a text that you'd already known the details of, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch, but dissecting something you'd never even encountered before? Like magical theory?

For all of its close kinship, Late Middle English is still a different language.

This is even more true for Early Middle English

If you go back further, to before the time of William the Conqueror, you run into the gem of a language known as Old English...and its dialects. A disproportionate number of books in the Malfoy library were looted from various families at the time of the Norman Conquest of Britain, therefore roughly a third of the books in the library were completely unreadable due to their being written in a language nearly a millennium old.

When you factored in those written in the older variants of Middle English, those which had been carried over from France at the time of our family's infancy, which were written in _Medieval French_, those which had been inherited through the years, and those which were bequeathed through marriage and other circumstances...this assortment being in languages ranging from High Latin, Medieval to Modern versions of German, Dutch, Spanish, Norse, Arabic, and (though I couldn't be sure of these) Hindi, Albanian, Greek, and...what might have been Russian.

I had access to maybe, _maybe_ one twenty-part of the books.

And that was just unacceptable.

So, the first order of business, before I set to reading the relatively meager stockpile of material I _could_, was to learn how to read the others. So, being the good and eager daughter I was, I picked up one of the older, slimmer volumes which was in the 'safe' section of the library (where the books were cursed, or hexed, or jinxed) and brought it to my mother.

"I can't read this book, mommy," I said plaintively, holding up the leather-bound object.

"Dezzy stupid," Draco determined, sneering a childish mimicry of father's expression.

"Am not," I replied with great dignity.

"Are too," Draco responded, his small speech displaying all the tact of a master debater.

"Children," Mother interjected sternly, taking the proffered object and flipping through a few pages as Draco and I stuck our tongues out at each other.

_I have spent way too much time as a child. This can't be good for my mental health._

"Desdemona," Narcissa said gently, "This book...is written in another language. I'm sorry honey, but you can't read it without knowing how."

I nodded the concession, enjoying mother's slight relief that I wasn't going to get upset and throw a fit. "Can mommy read it?"

"No sweetie," Narcissa replied and some of my surprise must have shown through, because she smiled, "Mommy doesn't know everything."

"Daddy can read it," Draco affirmed with all the wisdom of his age. "Daddy can do anything."

_Gee Draco, thanks...you've both helped me and reminded me that you're a hopeless daddy's boy._

"Actually, your father can't read Old English either...I'm afraid you'll have to read something else, Desdemona," Narcissa said softly, smiling at me encouragingly.

I cocked my head, trying my best to look plainly curious, "Can't mommy do magic to let me read it?"

Narcissa laughed softly as she handed the book over to me, "Dezzy, I'm sorry, but magic can't do that. If you wanted to read a book like this, you'd have to learn to do it the hard way."

I took my book back, frowning intently.

This was...unexpected. Neither Narcissa nor Lucius could read the books in their own library. Granted, it shouldn't really be that much of a surprise. Countless 'intelligent' rich people probably had libraries full of books they'd never bothered to open. Even I had been guilty of it, to a certain extent...

_...I wonder if Jim Butcher is around in this reality? Even if he is, I'm going to have to wait a good three decades to finish __Ghost Story__._

"Can I learn?" I asked, deciding to chance it.

Narcissa looked at me, surprised then wary, "Desdemona...are you sure? This would be a lot of work..."

I nodded resolutely.

Beyond the fact that I had almost nine full years to fill, I would need an edge eventually and I might as well start now. Besides, I wouldn't only be reading magical theory and ancient spellbooks. A great many of the tomes in the library were probably fiction or medieval cookbooks or something equally inane.

Ultimately, the thing which swayed my decision the most was the moral outrage of thousands of books, sitting on shelves, and lying derelict for centuries. I wondered how long it had been since a Malofy had bothered to read them, bothered to impose any sort of order on them...

"I want to learn," I said seriously.

"I want to, too," Draco cut in, having been nearly silent until now.

I rolled my eyes, "Draco's just whiny, you don't really wanna' learn."

Draco made a face, crossing his arms impetuously. "Will too! Just 'cause you're a smarty-pants doesn't mean you get to know everything!"

I wondered at Draco's language. Sometimes it seemed a bit...advanced for a four year old, but...we did share a playroom and spend a necessary amount of time around each other. Maybe my older brother was picking up words from me?

_Should I be worried about this? On the one hand, this is probably changing things...on the other, what possible actions can I take, without seeming to be willfully malicious, to keep Draco a stupid, ignorant pureblood elitist?_

_ And more to the point...why should I want to?_

I was so concerned with my behavior that I nearly missed the piercing look my mother was giving myself and my brother. Finally, she sighed and nodded, "I can't promise anything, but I will talk to your father about it."

I smiled brightly and looked over at Draco, contemplating doing something which I generally held off on: initiating physical contact. Deciding to go for broke, I lunged at my brother, hugging him.

"Mommy, help! Dezzy's hugging me! She'll get book-stuff on me!" Draco squealed, trying in vain to dislodge me.

My mother's eyes bulged, allowing her to spend approximately five seconds gaping like a fish before she collapsed into laughter.

I honestly couldn't care less at that point. I was going to school! Or get a tutor, or something! I was going to get mental stimulation!

Life couldn't get any better!

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

I admirably refrained from concussing myself on the table.

I reminded myself that I was only three years old, my skull was still undergoing development and any violent force applied to the brain pan might have negative effects down the line. The brain was, after all, a very important organ which probably played a pivotal role in the use and/or direction of magic. It was all I could do not to fatal injure that very important organ in a fit of impotent rage.

_Where did it all go so wrong..._

"...and once you go beyond 'nine,' you carry over to 'ten.'" Alexander Mackenzie, a dark-skinned adult in what looked like his mid-twenties (but considering wizarding ages, might have been significantly older) explained, helpfully pointing to a large slate board with his wand.

I felt part of my soul wither and die.

"Now," Prof. Mackenzie smiled, "I want you to finish your worksheets for Thursday and we'll move on to...I think we're continuing our discussion on vowels today, aren't we?"

I perked up, suddenly interested in anything that wasn't the most basic precepts of math. "Yes sir. We were talking about...those things you said people don't use anymore." Here, I carefully obfuscated my abilities, "Archy Chars?"

"Achey Chairs," Draco said authoritatively.

"Archaic Characters," Mackenzie explained carefully, with an air of patience that I recognized as part-resignation, part-amusement. He was a good teacher, someone who had the demeanor and attitude to wait for students to answer and gently correct them if needed. "These letters are common in Early Middle English, but they start disappearing as you get closer to Modern English. For right now, since we'll be starting Middle English before we move into Old English in a few years, I've only got a few for you to memorize."

Draco's gaze was beginning to grow vacant as the child's attention span reached it's limit.

The man sighed quietly and tapped his wand against the board. Immediately, a series of chalk marks appeared. "Here are the most common: Ash, Eth, Yogh, Thorn, and Wynn. These will be on next week's quiz, so copy them down as I give them."

Draco and I obediently picked up our quills, holding them in the imprecise and pudgy hands that childhood hadn't quite stripped from us. On the board, a long-form definition of each letter began to scrawl itself out in time with the tutor's voice.

I had to hand it to our father, he'd found a very competent individual to begin our early lessons. I didn't think that the Ministry actually had someone like him on payroll, who not only knew his material, but...well, I'd thought the entire wizarding world was ignorant of anything but magic. It was refreshing to meet someone who could explain something that wasn't tinged with the superiority of 'magic' or the racist undertones of 'pureblood.'

It struck me that my 'tutor' might not be merely a Hogwarts graduate.

As he was leaving that day, I watched Draco flee the room to play in the yard on a training broom that father had gotten him for his last birthday. Turning a curious eye on our tutor, I decided to chance it. "Sir?"

He looked up from where he was shuffling papers into his briefcase. "Yes, Desdemona?"

"How do you know so much?" I asked, trying to play the curious child.

He smiled, "Ah...well, I went to school, I suppose...and read a lot."

I nodded, pretending to think. "Where did you go to school?"

"Hogwarts," He answered easily. "Where you and your brother will go when you're old enough."

"Can I take language classes at Hogwarts? Mommy said there's lots of languages, like French and German and stuff...can I learn those at Hogwarts?" I asked, visibly excited. "And what books did you read? Can I read them too?"

The tutor chuckled, "Well, I'm afraid Hogwarts doesn't teach languages, that's why you're learning it now. I suppose if you really wanted I could get you some books to help you learn..."

I affected confusion, having already guessed the answer to my next question, "If you didn't learn languages at Hogwarts...did you go to another school, sir?"

There was reticence as he looked away from my inquiring gaze. He definitely didn't want to tell me something as he shuffled papers about pointlessly.

I pressed him lightly for another few minutes before he caved as I walked with him towards the front door. "Okay you little rascal, I surrender," he muttered. "I went to a school called Oxford, but its not a magic school, so you probably wouldn't like it. Hogwarts is much better because there aren't any muggles to deal with."

There was something...a lie, that I could see in his eyes as he avoided my gaze again, smiling at my father's appearance.

I decided not to push further.

But it was something to remember.

Because, as the ultimatum from father had dictated, it was 'all or nothing.' It was a relief to know we were being taught by someone with formal schooling beyond a mere seven years, because either Draco and I were committed to being taught the full course of subject matter: arithmetic, writing, etiquette, dance, music, and language...or there would be no formal education until we were six and seven, respectively. I was a bit worried about 'changing' things too much, but that took a backseat to my desire for something familiar: a classroom environment. Getting 'back into the saddle' after three-and-a-half years of lazing around reading children's books and learning to walk, talk, eat, and control my toddler body had me yearning for a return to 'normalcy.'

It was also a relief to know that even purebloods indulged in some preparative schooling for Hogwarts. I suppose they couldn't be lacking in common sense_ completely_, now could they?

As such, both of us were obliged to sit for most of the day with an accredited Ministry of Magic Educational Tutor, the office of which catered almost exclusively to purebloods, droning on about various subject. Then we were given homework. Then we were given quizzes, which we were expected to perform nigh-flawlessly on.

And I'll admit, some of it was interesting.

For instance, I had never been a 'music person' in my old life. Granted, I had adored music throughout my life, but I'd never had the skill, temperament, or desire to take up an instrument. In the high society circles my father traveled in, it was considered bad form for your child(ren) to not be fluent in the use of at least one instrument.

"Any respectable member of magical society should be willing to broaden their abilities to deal with any number of unpredictable situations," Mother would say.

Which...I didn't really understand, to tell the truth. When I translated it from 'pureblood' into English (or at least American), it came out something like, "If a situation ever needs you to be able to play an instrument to properly resolve it, well you'll be glad you know how, won't you?"

...It was easier just to agree to music lessons than fight my parents on the subject.

I also learned two other, interesting, things on this occasion: I liked making my parents proud of me and there was something fundamentally different in regards to my body...

I'll cover the first point since its easier to make sense of.

Up to this point in my life, I had merely been 'talking' or 'walking,' things that I had done nearly my entire prior life. As a result, being praised for doing those things felt...odd, undeserved at the very least. As a result, I tried to ignore anything positive my mother said regarding my achievements, not as a matter of humility, but out of embarrassment and...a little shame. That, even though no one could possibly know, I felt like I was stealing something from Draco by merely existing.

But...when I started learning, _really learning_ musical theory...the notes, scales, measures...it was for something that I, that _Desdemona Malfoy _did. When mother (father wasn't big on the whole 'praise' thing) told me I had done well, or that I was a good student...well...

It made me happy...and I didn't understand why, at least not at first.

Then, I realized that she was my mother, and it was okay to feel good when she praised me.

And, yes, that might _sound_ simple and intellectually, it is relatively simple, but taking the matter to heart and really _understanding _it? It's...profound, in a way that changes how you think of life. It was, in hindsight, another important step between 'living with the Malfoys' and 'living _as_ a Malfoy.'

Then, there was the fact that I could do any of this, at all.

Among other things, my prior body...'I' in some sense, had been tone deaf, had no sense of timing, and a few other things that made me particularly unsuited to being a musician. All of these things could probably be overcome, but I'd never tried to nor needed to.

_Desdemona Malfoy_, though, seemed to have a particular ear for music. Sounds were...not sharper, necessarily, but...deeper? Somehow, a C Sharp was now a musical note, rather than merely another noise. It was another one of those disconcerting little realizations that brought home the fact that, now matter who I had been before, I was someone else now.

Like the fact that I had a better eye for color.

Or the fact that I was able to taste and smell things more discerningly.

I didn't know whether or not to chalk all of these differences up to my reincarnation, or alternatively, to my new gender. As much of a cry as there is towards 'equality of the sexes,' man and woman have always been very different; the two different genders had different hormones, obviously, but their physical brains also worked differently, as did many of their senses. The question became, was my sense-brain-mind interface different merely because of my different body or because of my different sex?

I deliberately avoided thoughts of puberty.

* * *

Huh...another chapter of this.

Oh well, let's at least try to get the stupid out.

Read & Review Plz,

Slayer Anderson


	5. Chapter 5

Slayer Anderson

In Bad Faith Chapter 5

A Harry Potter Self-Insert

07/12/2013

* * *

Chapter V – Learning to Accessorize

* * *

Both Draco and I are loved by our parents.

But...Draco has always been more my father's son and I've always been more my mother's daughter. I don't mean that they 'play favorites' exactly, but its something of a natural inclination for them...father spends more time with Draco in the study, presumably teaching him important pureblood things, like politics, awareness of your peer group, and whatnot. On the other hand, mother spends far and away more time with me, grooming me to inherit...well, I'm not exactly sure, but she often lectures on the ins and outs of society in general, paying special attention to how to conduct oneself in high profile settings.

I think she was a bit disappointed that I turned out to be such a bookworm.

That...may have had something to do with my current situation. I'll admit to feeling a bit guilty regarding my overly-bookish nature, when Narcissa clearly had envisioned me as a social butterfly.

"Oh Desdemona, you look simply perfect," mother cooed as I showed off another dress, prancing about as I'd seen some models do in both my past life and when mother had dragged me to Madam Malkin's on a few errands.

"Thank you, mother," I said shyly, not having to fake the emotion.

_This is so terribly embarrassing..._

"She's gorgeous," Madam Malkin smiled, anticipating another sale.

And...I couldn't blame her, casting a fleeting look towards one of the mirrors which had been strategically placed. I looked...good, at least as adorable as any six-year-old had any right to. The dress and robe combination I was currently wearing were custom-made garments, fit for a child of an Ancient and Noble House.

_And isn't it just hilarious to learn they actually refer to themselves that way._

"What do you think, Desdemona?" Mother asked, smiling.

Light gray eyes narrowed in my reflection as my gaze turned critical. Although it was slow going, I was picking up the various 'dos' and 'donts' of Wizarding society. For instance, I was probably never going to be allowed to wear pants unless I sneaked out into the muggle world.

I ignored the vague feeling of 'wrongness' at my last thought, opting to voice my critique.

"I'd only be able to wear it at informal functions," I said slowly. "The cut isn't right for a holiday celebration, the trim isn't proper for mingling with proper society members as it doesn't have the right stitching, and...something about the hem?"

Drawing a blank, I turned to my mother, who was wearing a decidedly pleased and proud expression, though the proprietor seemed slightly disappointed.

"Very good, daughter. The hem is too short for anything but an informal setting. Do you think you would like it?" Narcissa asked curiously.

"The colors are complimentary, the fabrics are comfortable, and I have more than enough freedom of movement for when brother and his friends decide it is time to play with the Carrows and myself," I nodded, running a hand over the doubtlessly expensive fabric. Not Acromantula Silk, but equally fine...

Madam Malkin suddenly perked up.

"Excellent," mother nodded, turning to the proprietor and taking out a bank draft, "I will be ordering another set of robes and dress clothes for my son, his father will bring him by sometime next week to appraise the outfits...Tuesday, at nine?"

"We have an appointment block open, I'll reserve it for Lord Malfoy," the Madam nodded eagerly, signaling one of her assistants.

I shook my head, used to my parents' odd insistence that my brother and I go shopping at different times on different days. Instead of object, my voice rose slightly. "Dobby!"

The house elf appeared with a 'pop.'

"Yes Miss Dezzy?" Dobby asked, wringing his hands.

I gestured to the stack of dress boxes in the corner, "Take these to my room and leave them on my bed. Do not hang them up, I'll see to ordering my closet when I come home."

"Yes, Miss Dezzy," Dobby nodded, "Will that bees all?"

"No," I replied, trying to keep any politeness out of my tone. "Retrieve my red and black notebook from my writing desk and bring it to me. You're dismissed."

With a final nod, the elf popped away and mother granted me another approving gaze. "Excellent Desdemona, you're conducting yourself very well with the help."

I smiled politely, "Thank you mother." Otherwise, my expression was the chill distanced haughtiness that my position demanded of me. "Shall we be off to Flourish and Blotts?"

"I suppose," mother sighed, affecting a slightly-annoyed, but affectionately-tolerant expression, "but first I must excuse myself to powder my nose. I'll just be a moment, daughter."

As my mother moved away, I stepped off the side of the shop, seating myself on one of the waiting benches. A moment later, Dobby reappeared, holding a thin, bound notebook with high-quality parchment pages. Casting a suspicious eye towards the waiting staff, I decided they were out of effective hearing range and smiled gently.

"Thank you, Dobby," I said quietly.

"Yous always welcome, Miss Dezzy," Dobby smiled.

"Tell Nitzy and Itzy to have dinner ready by five, mother and I will return to the manor by then," I said in a louder voice, affecting my haughty expression once again. "Also, I will call on you again when we are through at the bookstore, be ready to assist us."

"Yes Miss Dezzy," Dobby nodded and popped away.

Resigning myself to a lengthy wait for mother I reclined slightly, but no more than my station would allow me in public. Cracking my notebook open I perused my notes, written in the precise and almost artistic scrawl that was far superior to my blocky print I'd used in my past life. Now, each letter was beautifully shaped and curved in a tight cursive which had been whipped into me by my tutor. The quill and ink pot was now coming as naturally to me as any ballpoint pen or muggle writing instrument.

Another twinge of unease ghosted across my consciousness, usually indicative of the weird contrast between my prior life and my current one. I pushed the thought away and dismissed it with the ease of long practice, no longer caring about the oddities of my wizarding life. There was little I could do but accept them. Instead, I focused on something with more substance, like the notebook in my hands. Titles of books that I had discerned were, at least, worth looking at reading.

_Barbery Smith's Worldly Wizarding World_

_ Practical Runework for Practical People_

_Elder Woods and Other Magical Treasures of the Magical World_

_ The Arithmancer's Guide to Intermediate Calculation _(and the advanced version)

There were more titles, of course, pages of them. Books that I had found references to in other books. Recent books, books that had gone out of print long before I was born, books that had fallen through the cracks of the few publication magnates of the Wizarding world and had such short print runs that there were scant few copies still lingering about. Still, they all had something in common with each other: they were unpopular.

The author, the content, the blood heritage or political ideology it espoused, take your pick.

None of them were 'mainstream' works, all devoted to 'revisionist' or 'alternative' theories of history, magic, politics, blood...the list went on and on. After two solid years of digging through the Malfoy library, I had noticed the obvious trend of 'scholarly research' either covertly or overtly supported the ideology of my family, but...

Certain authors had the habit of deriding and disproving their ideological counterparts, which meant mentioning their work.

Which, in turn, meant I had amassed a list of titles which would give me an alternative (if not necessarily correct) viewpoint on Wizarding Culture.

"Ready to go, Desdemona?" Mother asked, approaching me quickly, her steps tap-tap quick on the hardwood floor.

"Yes mother," I nodded, getting to my feet and following her out, swinging my feet faster as I struggled to keep up with her longer strides.

"I have business in Gringotts, child," Narcissa explained, unusually serious in tone as we ventured out into the alley. "I'll be leaving you to peruse the shelves in Flourish and Blotts. You are not to leave the store, not even to go to that plebeian little used bookstore you are so in thrall with for some inexplicable reason. I will return within two hours and, if you have behaved yourself, we might have time to stop in at Fortesque's for a treat. If I find you've disobeyed me, this will be the last of your Diagon Alley trips for some time."

She paused a moment, looking at me as we stood beside the entrance to the bookstore.

"Am I understood, young lady?" Mother asked, her voice brokering no argument.

Briefly, I weighed the costs and benefits of a quick trip to the smaller, more dusty bookstore down the street, but ultimately decided against it. There was the outlying chance that an hour or so spent sorting through the disorganized stacks and shelves would yield one of my long-sought treasures, but the weight of a possible punishment countered that thought. If I couldn't get to Diagon, then I probably wouldn't be able to acquire _anything _for the foreseeable future...

"I understand, mother," I replied carefully, locking eyes with her cheekbones (I was reasonably sure Narcissa wasn't a leglimens, but it was a good habit to get into), "I won't leave Flourish and Blotts until you come to retrieve me."

Narcissa held me under scrutiny for another long moment, before nodding. "Very good, I expect nothing untoward to happen in the meantime."

And then I was through the doors and she was gone.

Part of me thought it was a tad irresponsible to leave a six year old, even one who was almost seven, alone in a store while the parent went off to a bank. Another part of me was grateful that my mother perceived the combination of the Malfoy name and my own maturity as enough insurance against possible calamity. The Wizarding world could be delightfully 'small town' in some ways, I'd learned. They lacked the paranoia, worry, and globilization that modern muggles were infused with...I couldn't think of exactly the right word, but wizards possessed a fundamentally _different _mentality from their counterparts.

Meandering towards the used books section, I began to peruse it, every so often comparing various titles to ones I had scribbled down in my notebook.

The Malfoy library already had a sizable selection of contemporary works, though I was planning on looking at a few of the newer books as well. Still, older books, especially used ones, had a 'flavor' that was lacking in others; they often came with notes, scribbles, and highlights...rarely were they so insightful as the Half-Blood Prince's notations, but they were still interesting.

_And sometimes they're dirty limericks...who knew Medieval monks fantasized about anal sex so much..._

"_The Charging Rune: Mastering the Misunderstood_," I read aloud with relish, taking the slim hardback from the shelf and opening it up. It was still in good shape, very little wear and tear, and the previous owner hadn't written in it at all, merely dogearing a few pages. Nodding, I slipped the text under my arm and made a note to scratch the book off my list after I got home.

"Aren't you a little bit young to be reading something like that?" A voice asked from my right.

I turned, and was assaulted by the flamboyant red of a teen's shockingly bright head of hair. He looked to be a good decade older than I was, wearing slightly scruffy Hogwarts robes, and probably just home for the year. He was obviously a Weasley, though the verdict was out on whether this was Bill or Charlie...I'd always gotten the two confused in my prior life and six years of fading memories hadn't done me any good.

"Yes, yes I am," I said gravely, then turned back to the stacks.

There was a beat of silence where I admirably refrained from grinning.

I could very nearly hear the pin drop inside the Weasley's head as he stared at me. "I'm sorry, let's try this again. Are your parents here?"

"No," I replied curtly, pulling out another text and flipping through it idly.

There was another beat of silence.

"Okay...where are your parents, then?" He asked, a hint of impatience in his tone.

I finally turned to look at him, my own patience wearing thin as I sighed, "Look, I realize that you're just trying to be nice and I appreciate that, but mother is at the bank and will be returning shortly. I also realize that this book seems advanced for me, but my reading habits aren't really any of your concern, especially when you haven't even introduced yourself."

I smiled as his eyes glazed over slightly in shock.

_That was a bit wordy for an almost-six year old, and a little arrogant, but I'm relatively sure that it won't get back to anyone who matters. Even if it did, I'm pretty sure my father wouldn't be too irritated with my mouthing off to a Weasley. Besides, Draco gets just about as pompous with Crabbe and Goyle...if not quite as well-spoken._

"Sorry," the Weasley said, shaking his head and looking as though he was trying to fight off a grin. "William Weasley, call me Bill."

I sketched a quick and relatively sloppy bow that would have my mother nearly fainting, "Desdemona Malfoy, charmed."

"Malfoy?" Bill asked, blinking in apparent disbelief.

"Yes, yes," I dismissed, casually glancing at the few wizards and witches in the store and satisfied that they were far enough away to not hear a politely quiet conversation. "I know, I should be crouched in an overstuffed recliner in the shadows cast by a roaring fire and wickedly plotting my next evil scheme, but it is summer...and, therefore, a little warm for fires right now. I'm sure you understand."

Bill bit his lip, looking like he was about to burst into laughter at the slightest provocation.

I waited obligingly as he gathered his faculties.

"That was pretty good," he admitted somewhat warily, looking me over and assessing...something. "So you're one of Lucius Malfoy's brats? I'd have thought the way dad talks about your father you'd have cloven hooves and pointed tails or something."

I extinguished the brief and confusing flare of anger at the presumptuous and galling tone of the-

Shaking myself, I raised an eyebrow and attempted to hide my unsettled demeanor. "It's amazing what one can cover up with a simple glamour these days."

Bill barked a laugh that had a few patrons sending odd glances their way and flushed in embarrassment. Turning another odd look my way, he shrugged, "You know...you're really eloquent? Is that the right word? You don't sound like you're...what seven?"

"Six," I replied, still with one eye on the shelves. "Mother has been giving me elocution lessons, as befitting someone of my social position."

_You've got to love it when you get an excuse handed to you on a silver platter. It helps that mother and father expect me to walk, talk, and act as close to an adult as I can manage._

"Elocution," Bill repeated, the word looking as though it tasted sour in his mouth. Shaking his head, he looked back to the book under my arm. "Anyway, are you sure something like that is what you're looking for? My sister's still reading those Harry Potter storybooks."

I shivered.

"Those books are...bad. Terrible, really," I said, my eyes back on the shelves.

"Oh?" Bill...well, he didn't quite ask, but there was some hint of inquiry behind the monosyllabic response.

"They're just so...unrealistic," I settled on. "I'm six years old and _I've _never beaten a dragon using Merlin's wand. I don't really have anything against...child exploitation, but I do hope Harry Potter is at least getting a cut of some of the money."

Bill's eyes glinted with something I wasn't quite sure of...his expression told me I'd just done something very good, or very bad. "You know...you're nothing like what I expect when someone says 'Malfoy.'"

I couldn't think of anything to say to that which wouldn't incriminate me more than I already had. Instead, the book in his hands caught my eye.

"That's _Glyphs, Guards, & Wards_ isn't it?" I asked, looking at the thicker tome more closely...and a bit longingly. "That went out of print years ago."

"Yep," Bill grinned, "Professor Flitwick, he teaches Charms at Hogwarts, recommended it for anyone who wanted to Curse Breaking." He paused here. "I can't believe someone your age would know about a book like this...I think all my younger siblings were running around playing pranks and talking about Quidditch at your age."

I tried to shrug, but my tightly reigned in posture fought against the motion. Instead I said, "I'm thinking about Curse Breaking too, but I find Ancient Runes interesting more than anything. I mean, I thought it was simple, but-"

"-Simple!" Bill barked out, grinning as I tried to fight my bristle of irritation at being interrupted. A civilized person in polite society would never- "They're _way _more than just pretty little pictures, Miss Malfoy."

"I know that," I snapped curtly before recomposing myself briefly, "But its still fascinating how runes, chants, and ligatures can create the same results as spells, only without any wandwork."

Bill nodded, "I suppose you're right there, at least, but you'd have to memorize all of the long-form chants, have the spell completely written out using runes, and be able to charge the entire array..." Again, the teen gave me a measuring glance, before being interrupted by-

"Bill, I'm ready to go!" A streak of red hair, freckles, and worn clothing shot by me and into Bill Weasley. If the feminine yet childish voice hadn't been enough to clue me in, the family resemblance was the last nail in the coffin.

"Ginny! You shouldn't interrupt people when they're talking," Bill chastised lightly as he picked the bundle of energy up and held her close. A tinge of longing, followed by irritation, followed by anxiety. I pushed aside the turmoil of emotions to listen as Bill introduced me.

"...and this is Virginia Weasley, my little sister. Actually, she's your age...you might end up in Hogwarts together," Bill smiled, completely oblivious to my own concerns.

_Virginia Weasley?!_

"Charmed," I repeated. "I'll be...looking forward to it. Now, I really did have a few books I wanted to pick out." Breathe slowly, don't panic...

"We should get going too," Bill nodded and, as he walked off, I could hear Ginny start to blather on about the Harry Potter book in her arms, gesticulating wildly about how awesome and wicked he was and about how she was going to marry him one day and-

I stepped behind an isle, sighing deeply as I tried to gather my thoughts.

_Another difference...granted, the most major and noticeable one I've spotted so far. Ginny's name is supposed to be, canonically, Ginevra. If her name's Virginia, which was popular in fanon, as I recall...crap._

There had been little things I'd been noticing up to now, things that didn't really interact with the story so much and could, at least partially, be due to my own impact on the world around me. 'Virginia's' name was not one of those...or could it be? Was I born before or after the youngest Weasley? Was it possible my birth had, through some Butterfly-Hurricane series of events triggered a different name being selected for Harry Potter's canonical girlfriend?

Still, it wasn't something I could ignore...

The tiniest differences were stacking up, mounting towards a pile of evidence that I wasn't in the world of 'Harry Potter' that had been documented by J.K. Rowling, which meant I would need to continue my cautious observation. The timeline itself, though a painstaking study of dusty history books, checked out...

...from what I could remember.

And that was another danger I hadn't expected, though thankfully I'd caught it before it was too late. Even now, a carefully concealed book held a series of carefully worded 'journal entries' that would hopefully give me enough reminders and names that I could reconstruct the 'canon' events if necessary.

"Bugger," I groaned quietly, shaking my head and looking towards the shelves again.

This mess was going pear-shaped.

I just knew it.

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as the door to my room shut.

"Dobby?" I called, even as I sagged to the floor, making a visible effort to throw off the pureblood facade I'd worn for the outing while I drummed my fingers on my notebook, resting on my lap.

"Yes Missy Dezzy?" The elf prompted, appearing with a quiet pop.

"Could you please bring me..." I paused, thinking.

_What do I need? What do I want?_

"...a butterbeer?" I finished finally, lamely, my thoughts still racing. "And get yourself something, too...water, or even a butterbeer if you want it."

"Oh, noes, Missy Dezzy, Dobby shouldn't be drinking those," Dobby admonished me lightly, "And Missus Cissy will not be liking me spoiling your appetite for dinner, no she won't. Youse is a growing witch, Miss Dezzy, you should not be-"

I held up a hand, motioning for silence from my...friend. "Dobby, I've had a...well, not 'bad' necessarily, but certainly taxing day and would very much like a butterbeer. I promise you I will eat two full servings of dinner, so please?"

Dobby bit his lip and did an anxious dance before disappearing, then quickly reappearing with a frosty butterbeer which I gratefully accepted, taking a long swig and then resigning myself to smaller sips. I stared off into the distance, still leaning up against my door and eyed my room as I tried to gain perspective on this new wrinkle in my...plans?

_I don't know...do I have plans? Schemes? Plots?_

_ What exactly am I trying to accomplish here? Stay the course? Change the world for the better? Become the new Dark Lady?_

I eyed the reconstructed copy of the "Evil Overlord's List," sitting innocuously on my bookshelf with a dozen other slim notebooks, my 'journals,' which were filled with various things I remembered from my past life that I might, one day, find useful. They ranged from possible ideas that might, one day form the basis for a plan to strike back against Voldemort to odd ideas that about centaurs and the need for a sizable, sustainable population in the Forbidden Forest, which meant that place was probably a lot bigger than-

I slapped myself.

"Not the time," I muttered aloud. "Not the ruddy time."

_Okay, focus. I have a fairly good outline of wizarding history...at least, what can be verified to __any reliable extent. I know the rudiments of a _possible _future which will occur over the next decade or so. I've seen signs that my 'future knowledge' may or may not be reliable. I need to ascertain the veracity of certain events...while maintaining my cover as a six year old child. These won't be things I can necessarily look up in the Family Library...I'll need a backlog of Daily Prophets from the last fifty years or so, birth and death records, as much factual information on the last war as I can get...and the one before that..._

After all, it wouldn't do for everything in Britain to be the exact same as canon, but Grindelwald maintaining a Wizarding Kindgom somewhere in Europe. Granted, from what I knew that was _unlikely_, but it was possible that he had escaped Numengrad and gone on a comeback tour.

_...and nothing in the library would have mentioned it. I'm pretty sure that relatively new edition of the Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts would have given it a footnote, at least. Let's face facts, this world is functionally identical to Harry Potter canon, but..._

"The Devil is in the details," I muttered, sipping my butterbeer again, then swirling the sweet liquid thoughtfully.

Raising my eyebrows, I contemplated the bottle. "So...how to get those details. I'm studious, detail-oriented, but I don't really have an excuse to try to retrieve this kind of information...let alone any idea where it would be."

Another long silence.

"So I need to ask mom...or dad for help." I granted, not seeing anyway to discretely owl-order that type of information nor request it from Dobby...even if I knew where to look.

"I need social history...birth and death records..." I stopped, freezing as the thought percolated. "Birth and death records." I nodded. "A genealogy."

It made sense. I was curious, fairly independent, studious...and I'd given every indication of being a faithful daughter, adhering to pureblood ideology word-for-word, even when it made me sick to my stomach. It would make sense for me to want to do this kind of project whether for school or personal enjoyment.

Standing up I emptied my butterbeer and slammed the glass bottle on my desk with a satisfying _thunk_. With a grim smile I began to pull books from the various shelves and stacks around my room and forming a new series of stacks near my workspace.

This was going to be...dare I say it?

_Fun_...

**In Bad Faith**

Dinner was, by and large, a quiet affair.

That was not to say it was tense, but the Malfoy family was, as a rule, tranquil. Much like the pureblood facade we wore outside the house, we also wore masks while at the table. Mother donned the cheerless and cool expression of a Matron of an Ancient and Noble House, while father was the detached, aristocratic pureblood which society had come to expect.

"...and then Crabbe and Goyle ran into each other on their Cleansweeps."

Draco...still had a bit to learn.

"Patience, Draco, not everyone can be as gifted a flier as you are," Narcissa admonished.

My brother directed a haughty sneer my way.

_Honestly, does he think we're actually competing for parental affection? Or anything else, for that matter. Harry...how did you put up with this for seven years? I'm at my wit's end after six!_

I diligently ignored the traitorous flare of jealous that kicked up.

"If Draco is done regaling us with his adventures," I said carefully, trying to show visible effort in pronouncing the word 'regaling.' My mother favored me with a smile, even as Draco's sneer soured. "I wanted to ask..."

Mother and father looked towards me even as I paused. Even Draco, who was normally disinterested in my whims, focused on me. I coughed into my hand, trying to convey being visibly nervous.

It wasn't hard.

Directing my request towards father, I tried for my bravest face. "Mother bought me a book on great wizarding figures in history, today...and our ancestor Armand Malfoy was in it."

Lucius nodded, interest crossing his cool features. "As well he should be. Armand, your many-times great-grandfather, helped William the Conqueror establish his rule over Britain in 1066. I believe there are even a few biographies written by your other ancestors within the family library."

I nodded, though I hadn't come across any of the aforementioned books.

"...and I, well...I was wondering about doing a genealogy," I admitted, blood rushing to my cheeks as my parents' attention sharpened. "But I don't have many of the new books or...newspapers or things that would tell me when people were born and died in the library. I was wondering..."

My father's elegantly trimmed eyebrow hitched upwards.

"...if you could tell me where to look, father?"

Lucius took his time answering, taking a few bites as I hung on his silence. Finally, instead of replying, he turned towards Narcissa. "Wife, I am given to understand that Draco is to begin his dancing lessons in the coming week?"

"Yes, husband," Narcissa nodded. "Desdemona is already competent in a few of the simpler waltzes and two-steps. I had wanted to educate Draco to a comparable level so that they would have partners of more equitable size for the more complicated maneuvers."

The words took a moment to penetrate, but when they did, my head snapped towards Draco.

His did likewise a second later, pale horror etched across his visage.

It was an expression that likely mirrored my own.

_I have to dance...ballroom dance, with Draco? With my older brother?_

Mutually, silently, we agreed to avoid this eventuality for as long as possible.

"Then in the meantime, Desdemona may accompany me to the Ministry and I will determine if she is sufficiently determined to pursue this course of study," Lucius decided, giving me an evaluating glance. "Daughter, if you prove adequately resolute, or I might say obstinate, then you may search the Ministry Records Department for what you desire."

"Th-thank you father," I managed, surprised, pleased, anxious, and unnerved all at the same time.

_Pear-shaped, _I couldn't help but think, _Completely and utter pear-shaped._

* * *

Well...that happened. Anyway, its interesting the amount of background research I'm having to do with this fic...and also the fact that some of it is overlapping with my thesis project, which is really, really weird. By the way, I'm recommending Harry Potter and History edited by Nancy Reagin, which has turned out to be a fantastic resource and...yeah, if anyone was doubtful about how much I actually read? I clock in at about a thousand pages per week in real life. I shudder to think of how much reading I would do in a world without internet, television, or alternative entertainment. I think I also just proved I'm a terrible, terrible geek.

You've also probably noticed that I'm going slightly 'left of center' with the setting. Some things will be slightly different, others will be the same. Still others will be completely and obviously different. And I'm going to have bitten off way, way more than I can chew in this whole genealogy project. Let's see how long until I crack and set fire to the ministry archives. Read and review, please, if only to tell me that my self-insert is way too close to a Mary Sue for your liking.

See you later, Space Cowboy-Wizard,

Slayer Anderson.


	6. Chapter 6

Slayer Anderson

In Bad Faith Chapter 6

Harry Potter Self-Insert

07/26/2013

* * *

Chapter VI – Making Magic (or Not)

* * *

To be a Magus is to walk with death.

I wish I could remember exactly where I'd heard or read that...and my journals probably have a clue or two, but they're badly organized and I don't always have time to ferret out one-liners that pop into my mind. Shaking my head, I turn back to my work, which had prompted the odd thought.

What people don't understand is that magic is dangerous.

The less structure around your magic, the more dangerous it is.

That is, more or less, the purpose of a focus, a wand...stave...staff, to make magic safer.

Much of magic is trappings; the wand, the words, the spell itself...they're crutches. You don't actually need an incantation, a complex series of motions, or anything else. Ultimately, it comes down to will and intent. For a master of the magical arts, one need not even set eyes on a given target, merely a piercing focus to alter reality to their whim.

For a master...

...which I am not.

Acknowledging that, for all the theory I might have packed into my head in a few short years, for all the wild ideas and fantastic concepts I might have developed in my past life, for all my enthusiasm to finally begin working with _real, honest magic_...acknowledging that despite all of this, I was a gross amateur was not easy. Regardless of all of my eagerness, though, I was not about to jump into things too quickly. In spite of the fact that I was chomping at the bit to begin my practical studies in magic, I took my time getting ready.

Knowing that I wouldn't receive a wand until I was eleven, I looked into alternatives.

Potions was my first thought, though I dismissed it for various reasons.

The discipline of Potions is extraordinarily dangerous, a fact which so many people overlook and one which explains some of my Godfather's constant irritation at his students. Looking at it objectively, it should be fairly simple, but...this discounts the fact that it is very difficult to direct the whole of your attention to a cauldron for more than an hour. Then there is the precise and demanding nature of ingredient preparation, which can radically effect the outcome of a given potion. Even if one manages all of these various intricacies, various random and unforeseen complications can arise.

One must take into account room temperature, humidity, the age and freshness of ingredients, the purity of base solutions, air circulation, impurities such as dust, pollen, molds, spores, fungi, then there are the contaminants which a person might drop in like sweat, skin flakes, hair, and a thousand other things. These facts were probably either left out of the books due to their boring nature, or they're merely another example of how things are different in this world. I'd probably need to check Snape's Potions classroom to determine if he had taken precautions.

Then there was getting resources, potion ingredients and the like...which would lead to some pointed questions from my parents about _why_ exactly I wanted to start learning how to brew potions a good four or five years early. Questions that I dearly did not want to answer.

I resolved to cut Severus a bit more slack, but only a bit, in the future.

If I had to teach a class full of eleven-year-olds how to handle large quantities of dangerous substances, I'd probably be nearly homicidal as well.

After a month of research, I decided that Potions would have to wait until I had a competent and, preferably attentive, tutor.

Disregarding Potions, I decided to look into Ritual Magic...first to see if it existed, then to see if I would be able to attain anything approaching competence in it.

The short answers are yes, then no.

Yes, Ritual Magic does exist in this reality. No, I will probably not attain competence in this field anytime soon. Anytime 'soon' as in the next decade.

Spending three months cross-referencing various tomes, asking a discreet question here and there, and composing a fairly impressive analysis on the subject, I learned a few things about Rituals.

The long answer to the earlier question is that Rituals are a complex combination of Potions, Alchemy, Arithmancy, Charms, and Ancient Runes, requiring at least advanced proficiency in all of the above (if not outright mastery) to even contemplate performing a Ritual. Consequently, the few Rituals I managed to find mention of were mouth-wateringly impressive and, if I find myself adequately prepared one day in the future, might be worth looking into.

What at first appeared to be my second failure in attempting to find a way to do magic without a wand lead me, ultimately, to a success.

Ancient Runes.

Although actually using the intricate runic alphabets required a background in Arithmancy, it was the safest (for a given measure of the word), easiest (after years of study), and fastest (taking hours to write out simple spell constructs) method of working magic without wands.

There were other possibilities which I perceived tantalizing clues of during my readings; schools of elemental conjurations, Summonings, weather magic, and even more exotic and esoteric branches of arcane knowledge. Still, information on these was...preciously rare, given my current ability to read only Old, Middle, and Modern English.

And on a side note, my prior estimation of some twenty-odd languages?

Not even close.

I started with the Elder Futhark, which seems to be the basis for European rune work, originating in Scandinavia and propagating throughout the British Isles and most of continental Europe by way of the Vikings. A full half of the total runes (which can be used in magical rune work, but are not exclusively 'magical' in nature) have been documented by muggles, the other branch having purely magical uses and therefore covered by the Statute of Secrecy.

I had started out simple, with a ligature of Sowilo and the Charging Rune, combining the two runes into one using a binding that looked like Celtic knots intertwined in a circle bordered by four Control Runes, one each on of the cardinal points.

Sowilo was technically the 'Sun' Rune, though that was just the uppermost meaning; it was also tied into things that were associated with light, day, and health. Depending on the precise meaning of the Rune which you wanted to invoke, you were supposed to use a particular (and personalized, in many cases) chant.

I looked over the design in front of me for the seventh time, checking that each angle of the ligature was mathematically perfect. Then I checked the border, making sure that it was a perfect circle, widely regarded as the safest and most 'stable' of shapes. The Control Runes, too, were perfectly aligned to North, South, East, and West. The large sheet of parchment was secured to my writing desk, one of the heavier pieces of furniture in my room.

I nodded, I was ready.

Pressing my two pointer fingers onto the ligature in the center, I opened my mouth to begin the chant-

-and the door slammed open.

"Dezzy!" A pair of voices cried out.

I closed my mouth, breathing in deeply through my nose before releasing it in a long sigh. "Flora, Hestia...I thought you weren't coming for another few hours." I didn't really trust myself to look at them, so hot was the irritation burning beneath my skin.

"Our mommy needed to meet with your mommy, so she brought us over early!" Hestia smiled, clearly excited at getting to spend time with me.

"Isn't it great! We get to play all night tonight!" Flora enthused.

_Ahh yes...an intercultural staple of childhood: the sleepover. Keep calm, they're just six years old, they don't understand that you'd be angry at seeing them early...breathe._

"Excellent," I smiled, forcing my tone to match my expression, then paused. "Why are we having a sleepover again?"

The other girls stared at me, surprise warring with disbelief.

"Did she forget?" Flora asked, her eyes wide.

"How could she, though?" Hestia replied.

My eyes narrowed in thought, an imaginary calendar forming in my mind as I counted off the days. Closing my eyes briefly, I shook my head. No. I refused to believe it. It was entirely too cliché and I was not going to be a living stereotype.

"Tomorrow's my birthday, isn't it?" I asked, deadpanned.

"We knew you'd remember!" Both twins enthused.

I facepalmed, "I'm the Absent-Minded Professor...Merlin save me."

The Carrows giggled as Flora hugged me, "You're weird, Dezzy!"

"But a good weird!" Hestia said quickly, sharply, glaring at her sister even as Flora nodded.

"Yeah! You always know awesome games and you're even smarter than Draco! And he's older than us!" Flora grinned.

"Even if you do use too-big words and act way too much like a grown-up," Hestia added.

I frowned, trying to ignore the sudden upwelling of confusing feelings within me. There was a bit of alarm that they had noticed my...oddness (though, in hindsight, it was probably obvious that I wasn't 'normal' even to children), relief that they didn't care, and...well _warmth_, affection, that they showed every intention of actually trying to be my friend. I understood that they were being pressured to befriend me by their parents, but I'd also heard them talking about other friends, children who they'd had over to their house.

Those children were normal, those children probably didn't need to be pushed and coerced into playing games.

Despite that, I'd never detected any indication that they didn't _want _to be here.

With me.

I swallowed a lump in my throat.

_...and now I'm getting choked up because a pair of six-year-olds have decided to be my friends. They probably don't even realize their parents are brainwashing them to be chummy with me._

I didn't quite convince myself of that.

"Thank you," I said quietly, wrapping both my arms around them, ignoring the odd looks they gave me.

"Dezzy...are you okay?" Hestia asked, sounding worried.

"Fine," I said wetly.

"Dezzy's sick!" Flora announced, though I couldn't see her face through the dust in my eyes (which were not tears), but her voice sounded panicked. "Get Auntie Cissy!"

"I'm okay!" I coughed, even as Hestia pulled away and went running down the hallway. It was a childish overreaction on their part, though I couldn't really blame them. I was...cold and distant most of the time and seeing me nearly start crying was probably alarming to them. I tried hard to maintain my composure, but...something about the idea that two children who didn't really owe me anything, would put aside my 'weirdness' and want to be my friend despite that? It was...touching.

I guess I'd grown a bit more attached to Hestia and Flora than I realized.

Moments later, Mother had arrived with Alecto Carrow, who had ushered the twins out so that my mother could soothe me. All of the attention, hadn't helped my disposition and I ended up shedding a few tears into Mother's blouse. It was the first time since I'd cried since infancy and mother was looking understandably upset and frazzled.

"Honey, Desdemona...what happened? I thought you'd be happy with your friends over? Is there something wrong? Are you worried about the party tomorrow?" Mother asked in rapid succession, her voice unsteady as she tried to rock me gently.

Eventually I managed to force back my emotions enough to answer her.

Although the words that came out of my mouth weren't what I had intended.

"I'm weird," I murmured.

"Oh sweetie," Narcissa whispered. "You're not weird, you're-"

"-yes I am!" It wasn't quite a shout, but close to it, mixed with the whining voice of child that I hated hearing use my words. Though, just like that, it was like a damn was broken. "I'm weird! I'm too smart, I spend all my time reading and I don't like playing dress up or tea parties with Hestia and Flora and I'm not-I'm not _normal_."

They were all true, but-

_Why am I saying these things!? I know I'm not normal! I know why I'm a freak! I shouldn't care! The Malfoys aren't my real family, they're just-_

"Why do you and father even put up with me?" I asked, crying in earnest know. "Draco's... better than I am. He's-"

_Oh god...I don't really say that, did I? I can't really believe that, can I? I mean, I know I'm not really their daughter, but..._

"Desdemona Malfoy!" Narcissa hissed, clutching me tightly. "I will not listen to you talk about yourself like that! You will conduct yourself in a manner befitting yourself, in a manner befitting a daughter of House Malfoy. Your brother is not, in any way 'better' than you, do you understand me? You are my child, just as he is...and while it may be that you are smarter than many of your peers, that is a good thing. If anyone ever disrespects your intelligence by calling it 'weird,' then they are not worthy of your consideration. Am I clear?"

I was quiet for a long moment, then I nodded.

"What if the kids tomorrow are mean to me?" I asked, hating myself for being so...childish. Still, I couldn't stop my mouth as it moved...and I was worried, just a tiny miniscule amount, that my peer group would reject me.

"Desdemona, these are other children of Ancient and Noble Houses, not mudbloods. Their parents will have conveyed a proper sense of decorum for such an event, and they will observe it. No one coming tomorrow can afford to disrespect the Malfoy Family by alienating you." Narcissa explained. "It's part of the reason we haven't had too many dinner parties at the Manor. Children of our society must know how to conduct themselves in a public setting so they do not start a childish feud that might escalate into something...untoward when they become adults."

Appearances are Important.

Rule #1 of Proper Pureblood Society.

Children of allied families couldn't be seen to fight with each other, so children were generally kept...not exactly 'apart,' but out of easy reach of each other. Save for certain festivals, like Samhain, Imbolc, Beltane, and Lughnasadh, there was no time pureblood children were put in close proximity with each other. This meant that they were only allowed to formally mix and mingle with their peers after a certain age so that, as mother intimated, nothing 'untoward' would happen.

In other words, one didn't want ill-behaved children starting a bloodfued that would last generations. The way this was communicated lead me to thinking that it was a hard-earned lesson indeed. After a certain age, though, children were allowed to interact with the larger pureblood community, invited to parties, and expected to conduct themselves with decorum. The age of 'learning to behave yourself' wasn't standardized, but it was almost always between six and eight.

"Thank you Mother," I said softly. "I'm sorry for behaving like that, I don't know what came over me."

Narcissa looked down at me, worry plain in her gaze. "Desdemona, while your father and I are proud of your maturity, keep in mind that you _can _act your age occasionally, especially when something scares you."

I hugged my mother, "Yes mum."

Narcissa gave me a blinding smile and set me on the floor, giving me a few deft swipes of her wand which left me completely immaculate. Doing the same to herself, she took my hand and lead me out to where Alecto Carrow was comforting her daughters. When they saw me, their downtrodden expressions instantly brightened in a way which no six-year-old could fake.

I felt oddly, disproportionately, happy.

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

"Salutations, Lady Harper. Thank you for allowing Justinius to attend my birthday celebration," I said politely, bowing with a stiff back and eyes that remained locked to my guest's cheekbones.

"What a polite young lady," Elizabeth Harper smiled, her dark face broadening even as she bowed in return, her right hand on her son's lower back forcing the now seven-year-old to bend at the waist. "Narcissa, you simply must tell me how you've engendered such good habits."

"I'm afraid I can accept little of the praise myself," Mother smiled, though there was something sharp beneath it. "Desdemona has always been exceptionally mature for her age; simply the result of a good match in myself and Lucius. Blood will tell, I always say."

The other woman's eyes narrowed imperceptibly and I got the impression that a subtle barb had been placed within the answer. After a moment, I remembered that Mother had been to the Harpers' house and, most likely, seen exactly how 'well behaved' their son was.

_Merlin, I hate politics...but I suppose I can see the appeal of insulting people without y'know, actually insulting them._

"I suppose that is true after all, I remember you and your sisters as such well behaved children as well...and look at where such fine breeding has gotten you," Elizabeth's voice was sweet, though the words had a two-faced quality about them.

_Three Black Daughters...one in high society, one as a psychopath in Azkaban, and one 'dishonoring' herself by marrying a muggle...or muggle-born, I forget which. Very subtle, Mrs. Harper._

"One should not forget her Malfoy lineage as well," Narcissa replied. "Why I would be hard-pressed to _buy _such an illustrious history for _any sum_."

This one took a bit more thought as I tried to decipher exactly what my mother had meant. Eventually I decided it was probably a shot at being an uppity minor house trying to finance their way to 'pureblood' status.

"Yes," Mrs. Harper nodded, apparently pleased with herself. "It would be a _miscarriage of justice _for gold to be used in such a way."

_Okay lady, that was a low blow...hell, I can do better than that and I'm six...well, today makes me seven. Watch..._

"Mother," I interjected, before she could respond, "I should introduce Justinius to our other guests. It would be bad form to allow such a _minor matter_ to overly occupy the host's attention."

I smiled as if butter wouldn't melt in my mouth.

My mother's eyes lit up with ill-concealed pride even as I felt a bit of shame trickle down my spine at such approval. "Excellent point, Desdemona. Take Justinius to meet your other guests while I converse with the other adults."

As the dark-skinned boy and I walked away from our parents, I shook my head, "Adults can be such children sometimes."

Justinius cocked his head, "What do you mean?"

I decided against the futility of explaining the situation when I observed the plain confusion on his face. "Nothing important. Now, Justinius, have you met Hestia and Flora Carrow?"

He shook his head, "No...there aren't only going to be girls here, are there? Mum said it was important to come, but I don't wanna' spend all day doing tea parties or something."

I snorted discretely. "They might like to have a tea party sometime, but I'll make sure you don't have to."

As my new acquaintance and I started making unimportant small talk, getting to know each other, and exchanging niceties (the last of which was mostly on my part) as I went about and introduced him to the various guests and played the good hostess.

Yet another reason I hate parties.

I was able to leave the Harper boy talking to Astoria Greengrass and Quentin Avery, who seemed to be getting along, talking about Quidditch as they were. As no one was looking, I made a face at the thought. I'd never been a big sports person in my prior life. In fact, one of my favorite jokes if someone asked if I followed football or baseball was to ask:

"Oh, you mean that game with the bat and the bases? They still play that? I thought it was a fad!"

_People make the funniest faces when you trip them up like that._

In short, I didn't really 'get' sports, even Quidditch...especially Quidditch, actually. I've actually been up on a training broom a few times when my parents insisted I was spending too much time reading and it was nice...horrifyingly dangerous, but nice.

I can't help but think Wizards are socially conditioned to accept a certain insane amount of danger in their lifestyle. It comes down to the fundamental difference in muggle and wizarding society wherein wizards live much closer to life-threatening forces than the average modern muggle. Therefore, it isn't 'crazy' to want to fly a piece of wood and straw through the sky, hundreds of feet and one mistake from plummeting to your death.

So, while I might have the makings of a reasonably competent recreational flier, after I got over a tiny, rather insignificant fear of heights, but I'd never be a competitive Quidditch star.

And I could live with that.

_Although, if Draco keeps bragging about how much more awesome he is on a broom than me, he might not be able to live with the fact...'cause I'll take that broom of his and show him a good old lumberjack 'timber!'_

Mother interrupted my idle fantasy of fratricide and called me over to where a pair of children my age stood near an austere man who looked much younger (only if one looked very carefully because wizards aged oddly compared to muggles) than my mother. He looked nervous, as though he wasn't quite sure why he was here or how it had come to this.

"Desdemona, I'd like you to meet my dear cousin Regulus Black and his children Virgo and Sagittarius. They've been taking an extended vacation on the continent and have just returned this past month," Narcissa enthused as I contained my shock.

_Okay, stay cool...you've been expecting this. Sometime sooner or later someone who was 'dead' was going to show up alive and kicking, just chill and introduce yourself. Worry about the implications later._

I put on what I hoped to be a beatific smile even as my mind worked furiously. "Enchanted to meet you cousins. I'm always happy to meet family. My name is Desdemona Malfoy and I'm very glad you could make it to my birthday party."

Regulus eyed me with the distrust common to those who had grown up in a politically-minded family. He seemed a bit confused that he could detect no disguised ill-will in my psoture.

The boy, Sagittarius, and the girl, Virgo warmed a little as I introduced myself, though I could tell they were both deeply unnerved by their surroundings. It was almost like they weren't used to being around this many Wizards and Witches, which meant...

What, exactly?

I chalked it up as something to remember even as the two (maybe twins?) exchanged awkward, unsure bows with me.

I looked closer at both Virgo and Sagittarius, examining them closely. They had their father's gray eyes, an aristocratic trait that would serve them well in pureblood society, though their hair was brown rather than black. Rather than the paler Regulus, they had discernible tans...although that might just mean a more Mediterranean heritage rather than hours in the sun. Their clothes were of fine quality, though they looked...subtly off.

The boy had a timid voice, still unsure despite the warm welcome. "Hi, I'm Sagittarius Black, but everyone calls me Tarry. This is my sister Virgo."

Although they looked like twins, their faces spoke of personalities that were night and day. Virgo Black had the kind of fire in her eyes that I instantly respected. Her entire posture, as much as any six-year-old's could, screamed 'don't fuck with me.'

"Desdemona, why don't you show your cousins around while I see to reintroducing Regulus to polite society," Mother prompted.

"Of course, Mother," I smiled politely, leading the way for my new compatriots. As we left the adults and their extravagant lawn party in the front of the manor, I turned an eye towards Virgo and Sagittarius.

"So...your father is Great Aunt Walburga's son, right?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. I could legitimize that much of my knowledge by way of my genealogical research...which was moving at a snail's pace. Still, I knew Walburga was suppose to die sometime before fourth or fifth year...might she have already passed? I remember seeing her a year or two ago, but...hmm, come to think of it, why hadn't we seen her more recently?

"Grandma doesn't really get on well with dad," Tarry admitted, even as his sister shushed him.

"Tarry, dad said not to talk about family business!" Virgo snipped, casting me a suspicious glance even as Tarry winced back with a hurt expression.

I frowned.

_Okay...time for an explanation. Walburga Black was known, canonically, to dote on Regulus as opposed to Sirius. Regulus was the stereotypical 'good son.' If Walburga doesn't 'get on well' with Regulus, then there should be a reason, which means..._

_ I have no idea. Of course, I'm basing my assumptions on the fact that these individuals match word-for-word their counterparts in a children's book. Then again, Walburga didn't seem much different when I met her a few years back...hmm...  
_

Shaking my head, I reversed the approach. What did I know about the Black Family that might explain the reversal of good relations?

_Not much...at least in terms of current news or interpersonal relations. Just about everything I've got is a load of blood purity nonsense-_

My eyes shot wide as everything suddenly made sense.

Well, if I was right, at least.

"You know, I don't really care if you're half-bloods," I said with practiced nonchalance as we entered the thin stretch of our walk in which we would not be observed by either the adults or our peers.

Which was good, because the two other kids had frozen mid-walk.

"How did you-!" Virgo started, her hands turning into fists. Sagittarius looked on nervously, erring towards the flight side of 'fight or flight.' Both, however, wore varying shades of shock as I smiled in a hopefully encouraging manner.

"How did I know?" I asked, forcing myself to relax a bit as I leaned up against one of the Malfoy Manor's porticoes.

"We didn't say anything!" Virgo nearly ranted, looking more and more irritated. "I knew dad was right and this was just a trap to make fun of us! Purebloods are just-urgh!"

"Wait!" I cried, losing my cool a bit as I stepped around to follow them. "Look, I'm not going to tell anyone...honestly, I was just curious. I didn't even know you really were half-bloods until you confirmed my guess."

Virgo and Tarry turned wide eyes at me before exchanging the type of glance I had seen Hestia and Flora share. Virgo stepped in front of her brother, moving into my comfort zone to examine me closely. I forced myself not to step back from the aggressive move.

"What do you want?" Virgo asked. "Dad said the Malfoys were politicians and liked to make deals, so what do you want for not telling everyone that our mom's a muggle-born?"

I hesitated...part of me honestly wanted to say 'nothing,' but Virgo probably wouldn't believe me, so...what could I ask for that was important to me but would be of little value to them?

"Do you know French?" I asked suddenly.

Tarry nodded, stepping up to speak, no doubt emboldened by his sister's overt presence. "Yeah! We know French and Spanish and Portuguese and Italian! Our mom's Italian, so we speak it really well."

My mouth watered at the prospect. "Teach me."

Both kids blinked. Virgo looking at me askance, "What?"

"I've already finished most of my Old and Middle English lessons and Father has let me start on Gaelic and Welsh, but he won't let me learn any of the continental languages because we're supposed to be proud of our British heritage. Still, so many of the books in our library aren't in any of the those languages and..." I shrugged, somewhat amazed that all of that mess had poured out of my mouth so quickly. It was one of the longest stretches of words I'd ever at once said in this life, I realized with a jolt. I'd always been a quiet child, but I guess I just needed the right prompting.

Both children stared at me strangely, doubtlessly trying to unravel the riddle they'd encountered in a very unusual pureblood. I gave them my best superior smirk (as opposed to a sneer, which might have spooked them).

"I guess," Virgo said suspiciously, eying me oddly, as if waiting for the other foot to drop.

Suddenly, I got a rather wicked idea.

"Look, you don't have to agree right now, but Mother will probably want to meet with your father again and I'll try to tag along. I know you don't trust me, but...tell your dad that I had a civil conversation with a Weasley and he might understand what I mean."

"Okay," Tarry nodded with an unsure expression. "What's a Weasley?"

"Ask your dad," I shrugged, trying to loosen my back muscles from their stiff formal posture. "By the way...I might get in trouble if my father or mother found out about that, so you've got something on me...just like I've got something on you, okay?"

I smiled at the expressions on their faces before turning back in the direction of my birthday party.

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

The party had been...tiring.

Still, I'd performed favorably to my parents' expectations and father had dropped in to make nice with the guests even as I coordinated a series of children's games and other inanities. It wasn't as boring as I'd expected and even...'fun' to a certain extent. It was interesting trying to match up some of my guests to the known families of my foreknowledge and those that I had been learning about in my research.

Still, it was also one of the more mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausting experiences of either lifetime.

Justinius proved to be an arrogant little toerag after he became more sure of his environment, which set the standard for my various guests. They were, to a lesser or greater degree, exceptional purebloods, proud and vain of their family legacies, boasting and sneering like they had any right to names that were less than a fraction as old as the name Malfoy!

"Pissants," I spat, rubbing a hand over my eyes tiredly.

It had been worth it, though.

Why? Because presents.

The best part of being a Malfoy is probably the presents. As one of the oldest contiguous Wizarding family lines in the British Isles (predated only by the Olivanders and a few others, none of which [save possibly the Potters] are as politically powerful), the birthday of a Malfoy family member is an occasion to show off wealth by giving the most ostentatious or meaningful gift.

Many of them had given me books, which was a useful gesture if fairly unimaginative.

Others had presented finely crafted instruments (mother had spread the word that I was musically and artistically gifted as well as studious), though the most interesting of the lot was a beautiful set of brushes and paints of incredible quality. I resolved to take a bit more time on the thank-you note for the Blacks. Hopefully, I could use the occasion to ask myself over and get to know the twins and...Regulus.

_R.A.B. is still alive...that's just great. On the one hand, he didn't deserve to die merely for being taken in by Voldemort. On the other, that means I might have to fight a horde of zombies to get to a __shard of a Dark Lord's soul._

I sighed.

"I hate zombies...inferi...whatever they are," I groaned. "At least...if they're not mine. There was that one time I played the Desert Lich-Thing in 3.5...I wonder why they didn't let me play a Wizard for a while after that?"

I shook my head, banishing the random thought as I looked over my...well, it wasn't exactly a 'schedule' so much as a to-do list...which grew longer by the day it seemed. I'd already packed most of my day full of research, tutoring, reading on various esoteric subjects, practicing runework, it just never seemed to end...

_-knock knock-_

"Come in!" I said promptly, standing to receive whoever was at my door. I expected my mother, but the second figure who appeared behind her was a surprise.

My father very, very rarely visited me in my room.

The austere figure of Lord Malfoy cast an appraising eye over my disorganized and chaotic room. The 'sleepover' hadn't helped matters, though the space hadn't exactly been spik and span before. I tended to let things go a bit when I was working on something like a school paper or a large project.

It wasn't exactly dirty, everything was near-spotlessly clean at Dobby's insistence, but between the towers of centuries-old books strewn carefully about the room, the massive scrolls of parchment upon which long family trees were beginning to form, an assortment of decades-old Daily Prophets, and various gifts still laying about the room.

I blushed deeply and cast a discrete glance to where my first Runic circle was thankfully camouflaged under an open text.

"I apologize for the state of my room, mother, father," I said, my eyes dropping even as my father complete his examination.

"I will expect better care to be taken of your room in the future," Lucius admonished. "Draco is getting older and has been allowed the use of the Children's Playroom to store his Quidditch equipment. Likewise, I will be allowing you, daughter, custody of the East Wing Study for your continuing efforts in educating yourself about our family history."

My eyebrows shot up, "Thank you Father."

Lucius's lips twitched upwards. "Despite the fact that I am very proud of you, daughter, both Narcissa and myself feel that you have over-devoted yourself to your studies and would like to see you taking up more...physical pursuits to balance your education."

I bit my lip, but couldn't hold back from objecting.

"But father! I very much like my current arrangement of studies. If I were to take up something as you suggest, it would cut into the time I've allotted for other things," I argued, trying to ignore the way my legs locked so they wouldn't shake as my father's eyes narrowed.

"Such was the idea, child," Narcissa explained, not unkindly.

"Indeed," Lucius stated dryly. "I am given to understand that you do not appreciate Quidditch like Draco, so I decided that, as a reward for your skillful maneuvering amongst your guests this past afternoon, you would be given a choice as to what you could pursue."

"Well, Desdemona?" Mother asked, eyes expectant, "Is there some physical exercise you would enjoy?"

On the one hand, I could see the necessity of exercise and even admit that I probably needed to 'get out' a bit more. On the other hand...I _really didn't want to_. I had other things to do! I'd even just found a rudimentary guide to Occlumency buried behind fifteenth century romance novels.

_I have to wonder at the thought that the Middle Ages were prudish when every other book I find has pornography scribbled in the margins or reads like a bodice-ripper. I swear if I have to stomach one more paragraph of graphic innuendo about 'swords and sheathes,' I'm gonna'-_

I blinked.

_Now there's a thought._

Mother was not amused at my request. It was, after all, not very ladylike.

Father gave me another appraising glance before nodding and informing me that my first fencing lesson would take place in a week, after my hour of tri-weekly Gaelic instruction.

_Crud, now I'm gonna' have to cut something...probably my library reading, or at least cut it down to a book or two per week. After all, reading every book in the library isn't practical and its really a means to an end. I'd still rather be reading than getting my arse kicked with a blade every other day._

* * *

I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this chapter. Part of me wants to say 'character progression.' Another part of me says 'Mary Sue.' I, personally, (and as this is a self-insert, that matters) do not overly enjoy physical exercise. I like books. I love books. I've also done martial arts and while I was tolerably competent, I also didn't ever really excel like I have in academics. I wouldn't choose to go into sports, even Quidditch. I like the idea of flying, but...depending on a BROOM? To FLY? No. As per Sorcerer's Stone, brooms can be jinxed and probably even malfunction naturally. If I were forced (and my parents would have to force me, because I wouldn't do it on my on) to choose a physical activity? I'd do something practice. Something that actually had a level of applicability (no matter how archaic) in the real world.

So, while learning to ride a broom at suicidal speeds seems like a great idea, its not something I'd go in for. Regulus will play a larger part in things to come. Also, yes, I know that canonically Walburga Black died in 1985. I think a lot of that was probably caused by the trauma of her Regulus' death, Sirius' imprisonment, Andromeda's banishment from the family, and Bellatrix's murderous insanity. Take away one of those and she'd probably live longer, at least by a few years. She was 'only' sixty when she died, so its quite possible that a large part of her death was contributed to be stress and grief. Regulus being alive would lessen that, though why he's alive? Yeah, Desdemona is really curious about that too.


	7. Chapter 7

Slayer Anderson

In Bad Faith Chapter 7

Harry Potter Self-Insert

08/01/2013

* * *

Chapter VII – Sibling Rivalry

* * *

Draco played Quidditch.

I Fenced.

Draco played Exploding Snap.

I Read.

Draco indulged in the meaningless run-around games common to young boys.

I sketched Runes.

The point I am trying to get across, of course, is that my brother and I spent little time together. I don't think our avoidance of each other was...intentional, exactly, but if either of us noticed (and I'm sure we both did on occasion), neither of us addressed it. Outside of our daily tutoring, which had diverged to the point where we were now working with separate teachers, the only time we interacted more than a few words was at meal times.

That had begun to change, though.

I'm not sure exactly what set it off. Perhaps it was the time I spent with Father and he was left at home with Mother. Perhaps it was the fact that I had been edging forward in our lessons, demonstrating competence with division when he was still on multiplication. Perhaps it was the fact that I had disdained the traditional Wizarding sport he so loved. Perhaps it was the dancing lessons.

Personally?

It was the dancing lessons.

Starting a few months after my seventh birthday, Mother had started giving us our dancing lessons together. Remarkably, Father also took to attending to serve as a demonstrative partner for our mother. The way they both nearly floated over the ballroom floor, gliding effortlessly as if they had used a hovering charm...

I was more than a bit envious.

I'd never learned to dance in my previous life...my attitude concerning the pastime had been largely the same as music. I appreciated the dedication and ability of those individuals who did so, but either I hadn't believed I had the aptitude or I always perceived a more pressing issue.

There was also a certain...softness which crept into my parents' faces while they danced. The chill in their eyes and the grim tightness in their jaws melted slightly, leaving them looking more human than I'd seen them in a long time. During those fleeting instances where they visibly forgot they were instructing their children and lost themselves in the sweeping motions of a spin or dip...I could believe that they might actually love each other.

Dancing was one of those odd and precious subjects that Narcissa and Lucius taught us personally, obviously, but there was more to it than that...

For mathematics, writing, language (both native grammar and learning foreign ones), elocution, music, art, sports, and several other basics Draco and I had tutors. For things like family history, manners, dancing, politics (for Draco at least), and etiquette (this one was specific to me) our parents took the time to instruct us personally. I got the impression that this was a traditional separation of education: what was 'necessary' and what was 'important.'

It was taken as 'necessary' that we would both need to learn how to manage our own finances in the future, therefor we were taught math.

However, it was 'important' that we be able to carry on our cultural heritage as adult wizards and witches; therefore, our parents wanted to make sure, personally, that we learned what we needed to.

It was an interesting dichotomy, though I wasn't sure if it meant our parents cared about Draco and I or tradition more. I would have ruminated on the subject further, but our parents parted at that moment, stepping away from each other and moving Draco and I into position, adjusting our arms and limbs before slowly pushing us into motion.

Then Draco stepped on my foot.

My eyes shot upwards from where they had been positioned on my feet, locking with my elder brother's eyes even as my jaw clenched to keep from crying out. A mirror-image of my own silver-gray orbs reflected a knowing smugness even as he murmured an apology.

Even as we moved back into formation, I felt Mother and Father's gazes on us.

"Draco," Father chastised, "do be more careful. It would be unsightly if such actions were repeated in a formal setting."

"Yes Father," Draco demurred.

We made it through the first waltz without further incident.

"Excellent," Mother smiled. "Now, try to keep up as your Father and I show you something a bit more complicated."

As we stepped to the side and our parents began to demonstrate, I glanced towards Draco, who replied with a silent sneer.

"Stop stepping on my toes," I hissed quietly.

"Make me," he replied, eyes sliding back to watch our parents as my own did likewise.

"If you mess up, we'll have to spend more time _dancing together_," I reasoned, trying to appeal to my brother's common sense. If he wanted to duke it out, fine, but this wasn't the time or place.

It occurred to me too late that 'common sense' and 'reason' had never been Draco's strong suit.

Rebellion and irritation flashed in Draco's gaze, "You're lying. You're just afraid of me stepping on you feet. Scaredy-cat."

I bit my tongue, not wanting to inflame the argument further.

Instead, I focused on memorizing the steps of the new dance; it was a faster two-step, though, and was rife with Draco's 'misteps.' Although Lucius and Narcissa took turns correcting us, by the time the lesson was over my feet were starting to swell under repeated and painful 'accidents.' When, by the final round, Draco moved to crush my right foot again, I had had enough.

As his foot came forward, mine slid around to the inside and hooked his ankle.

With a deft yank, I offset Draco's balance, sending him crashing backwards.

Unfortunately, I underestimated the hold he had on me, bringing my own form down on top of him. We settled onto the hard, dark wood of the ballroom floor in a resoundingly loud noise in the quiet space. As he pushed me aside roughly, I nearly snarled in Draco's direction even as he looked ready to spit fire. My fists balled and I took a deep breath to keep from punching the little snot in the face.

_There is fury, but within, peace._

I felt the red haze begin to recede as my Occlumency exercise began to take hold.

_There is weakness, but within, strength._

My muscles began to relax as I began to stand slowly, keeping my focus.

_There is wrath, but within, grace._

I exhaled, my face relaxing into placid calmness before frosting over in a chilly mask.

People misunderstand the point of Occlumency, a mistake I had only truly begun to understand after several weeks of study. Occlumency isn't really the art of 'defending your mind,' although it lets one do so in the event of Leglimency being used upon you. Instead, I was beginning to realize that to 'master' Occlumency, I needed to master my own mind, body, and emotions.

...although, even that was a flawed ideology.

You didn't ever really 'master' Occlumency, you couldn't 'master' it any more than you could 'master' painting or the violin. It is, in a very real way, an art. You can be a Master Occlumens, just like someone could call you a Master Painter, but...

There was no point at which an individual could 'finish' Occlumency, just an ongoing and never-ending struggle to attain mastery over oneself.

It was a terribly abstract discipline which demanded both long-term study and an individualized approach. Remembering Severus' demanding 'clear your mind,' was confusing when the book recommended nothing of the sort. After my first few steps, though, I had formulated the theory that my Godfather was teaching Harry Potter the only way he knew how...the way he had been taught.

The realization made Severus a bit easier to handle at holidays.

_He still doesn't understand how to let go of a bloody school-yard grudge..._

"I'm all right, Mother," I soothed Narcissa as she frantically looked over me, then my brother.

As Mother was occupied, Draco's eyes snapped to mine, promising revenge.

I felt bitter anger rise up within me, threatening to burst forth in a crescendo of violence.

_There is a storm, but within, stillness._

I'd read stories were people used the 'flame and void' or whatever it was called, but I'd never read whatever series it came from and didn't really know the reasoning behind it. Instead, I used water as a visualization tool, imagining an ocean of spiraling violent winds, a hurricane of force bending around me as I stood within the eye of the tempest.

I think my passive disregard of my brother's anger only stoked those flames.

Lucius, our Father, looked on impassively, something dark and calculating in his eyes.

I looked away almost as quickly as I met them, not trusting myself to even be able to _sense_ a mental probe yet, much less deflect it.

"You're both probably tired," Mother consoled us, looking as though she believed her own explanation, "We'll pick your lessons back up on Thursday. Be ready."

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

Since that faithful day, relations between myself and Draco had degraded rapidly from a cold war to thinly-veiled open conflict. Verbal sniping was commonplace, as was insulting each others' taste in everything from entertainment, to recreation, to favorite music. For those who are actually interested, I preferred Blues and Jazz (which was considered a 'cutting edge' trend on the Wizarding Wireless) while Draco had taken a liking to the louder and more violent symphonies of Bach and Beethoven.

It was, perhaps, one of the few arenas that I let myself be 'out-pureblooded' in, given that Draco's tastes were more 'proper' than my own. Well, music and Quidditch, at least...

_I'm all for 'Moonlight Sonata' or something that speed, but I can only take the 'Surprise Symphony' so many time before I snap..._

I shudder to think what my brother and I would have done with wands.

As it was, we managed to get pretty creative even without the ability to cast spells.

For instance, did you know Floo Powder is also a very effective agent by which to induce sneezing?

Draco does, now at least.

My brother, though, was prone to fighting 'harder' rather than 'smarter' and as a result I would often be hiding a new bruise or two from our parents. Draco took care not to actually hurt me, knowing that the consequences of getting caught in our little 'game' was a removal of privileges and pocket money. He would merely trip me from around a corner or discretely elbow me when an opportunity presented itself.

Looking back on it, I admit the trials of our covert war was a great test of my burgeoning self-control and meditation mantra.

Sadly, each time my brother failed to coax a reaction out of me, it only drove him to new heights.

And well, I learned that I can get really...creative when pushed far enough.

The conflict had escalated to the point where both Draco and I began visiting friends as much as possible merely to get a little peace, quiet, and security. The knowledge that I couldn't get back at him while he was over at Crabbe's or Goyle's and that I wouldn't be assaulted by him when I was at the Carrow's or the Black's gave each of us some breathing room...

...and time to regroup.

This week, under the pretense of an on-going game of chess with Tarry, I had leveraged my way into Grimmuald Place to continue my exploration in French. I had to admit, after a thorough grounding in Early Middle English, which had a great many French loan-words, it was significantly easier to pick up the tongue than I had thought. The benefits of my preparation, though, were counteracted by the fact that my 'teachers' were the same age as I.

"Ready to go, Desdemona?" Narcissa asked, looking me over. Even though it was a largely informal visit, I was still expected to maintain a certain level of propriety regarding my appearance and decorum.

My head held high, I gave the older woman a barely-there smile, "Of course, Mother."

"Very good child," Narcissa nodded as her inspection ended. "Be sure to remind Cousin Regulus that he has promised to visit for dinner next week."

"Absolutely Mother," I replied, accepting the pinch of Floo Powder and called out the name of my destination loudly and clearly before stepping into the green flames.

An extremely disconcerting moment later, complete with motion sickness-inducing spinning, I stepped free from another fireplace carefully holding down my gag reflex.

_Rollercoasters? Sure. Dead Drop rides? Great. Spinney Carnival things? No. Just effing no._

Taking a deep breath and running through my mantra again, I opened my eyes to the not-terribly-surprising figure of Regulus Black standing imposingly in the center of the Drawing Room.

"Lord Black," I intoned carefully, bowing the proper measure and lowering my eyes to the floor.

_If you bow to an equal, keep your eyes on them. If you bow to someone of significantly higher station or an individual who demands respect, they'd be able to kill you anyway so don't bother trying to watch them._

It was a code of behavior left over from the Dark Ages, when Family and Clan meant significantly more than it did today, respect as well. The idea was that if you were already in front of someone who could kill you almost without repercussions (or someone you couldn't afford to offend for any number of reasons), then you were to throw yourself fully onto the host's mercy by showing them the name of your neck.

It was archaic, rigidly unbending tradition.

It was the defining characteristic of Pureblood society.

"Desdemona Malfoy, welcome to my home," Regulus replied, his tone even and blank. "Virgo and Sagittarius aren't due back for another two hours, but sit please. I would find it relaxing to have someone to talk to other than my mother for once."

The hairs on the back of my neck rose as a tendril of unease crawled up my back.

There wasn't anything...wrong, necessarily with Regulus' request, but something nearly instinctual objected. I shrugged it off and stepped over to the chair I had been offered. "Thank you, Lord Black, though I have to wonder what conversation I could offer that the esteemed Lady Black could not."

'Lady' and 'Lord' didn't exactly mean the same thing to wizards and muggles. For instance, there was always the perception that applying either appellation promoted the individual to some level of nobility.

...which wasn't quite true, though any proper pureblood would affirm the myth.

The idea behind these titles, when they were used in the wizarding world at least, was that the head of a wizarding family (male or female) was the defacto sovereign of their lands with an authority that superseded (theoretically, at least) the kind or queen of the country. The actual practice of 'Occult Exclusion' (in that magical land holdings are legally removed from the muggle domains) really ended centuries ago...and was re-instituted after the Statute of Secrecy.

The original power of wizards to consider themselves sovereign rulers of their own family lands dates back from a time before the Wizards' Councils, which was the predecessor of the Ministry of Magic. The Wizards' Councils slowly subsumed this authority from the Family Heads (or stole, depending on your interpretation of history) and, subsequently, the Family Heads who retained significant political power in the late 1700's tried to retake that power.

This is the root cause of an enormous amount of the friction between the wizarding governments of the world and the traditionalist pureblood communities (at least, from the countries I've been able to read up on). When the Statute of Secrecy was actually signed by international committee, the language they used to define how this 'Secrecy' would be enacted was...vague.

Just like the various constitutions and treaties of the muggle world, wizards argue over the intentions of those who wrote the document. The fundamental argument goes something like this:

Is it the responsibility of the national wizarding governments to uphold Wizarding Secrecy?

Or, is it the responsibility of the traditional Heads of Families to do so, owing to their Ancient and Noble Rights as Sovereign Landholders who should, therefore, be in charge of the national governments?

_In the muggle world, you don't mention religion, taxes, or politics in polite conversation._

_ This holds true for the Wizarding World as well, for different reasons._

All of this amounted to the fact that it was a grave insult and terrible rudeness to refer to a head of family or adult heir or heiress by anything other than Lord or Lady unless you are very familiar with them.

"You would be surprised at how few kind words or sage advice the Lady Walburga has for me these days," Regulus said quietly, sadly, as his eyes began staring off into the distance.

I could imagine. The woman was likely a harpy to anyone who got on her bad side. "Lord Black, it should not be her fault, I think...she is very ill."

The verbal admission brought a shallow nod from the man, acknowledging what we both knew to be true.

Walburga Black was not long for this world.

"Where are my manners?" Regulus suddenly asked aloud, "Mother would have my skin if I should be so rude to family. Kreacher!"

At the bark, a house elf appeared, dressed in a customary pillowcase and bowed politely. "Master Regulus wishes something?"

"Pumpkin Juice, please Kreacher?" Regulus asked politely.

I froze slightly, though I think I covered the faux paus well enough. Even as the elf disappeared, I pondered the fact that Lord Black had _asked _one of his house elves to do something, instead of ordering it.

_Him! Kreacher is a HIM. Dobby is a HIM. Elves deserve that much at least._

"So, you and my children have become quite close," Regulus observed, sipping at his drink moments later.

"I would not wish to assume overmuch familiarity," I replied neutrally. "Your Lordship's children are what I would consider friends, though."

Regulus peered at me steadily, his eyes sharpening as I spoke the word 'friend' aloud.

"When I was a child, my father told me that to a proper member of our society, friends do not exist. You are either family, an ally, an expendable resource, or an obstacle. I would have your opinion on this, young Malfoy," Regulus ordered.

I didn't let myself react, forcing my breath to remain calm and unhurried. Inside, I was nearly panicking. There were _so many ways_ this could go badly.

"I think," I began and paused to collect my thoughts, "That there is wisdom in your father's words. It is sound advice from a politician as skilled as Orion Black, although..."

Regulus was staring at me, not quite invitingly, but...challengingly?

I decided to brave whatever test or whim this was. "...there is more to life than merely politics."

Although Lord Black tried to meet my eyes, I deftly avoided the probing orbs. An oppressive silence weighed in after my completed answer.

"So my father's advice was merely...incomplete, rather than wrong?" Regulus asked, though I wasn't entirely sure the question was wholly directed at me.

It seemed as though Regulus was looking for something...more than just an answer to his question.

I obliged him regardless of whether I was right or wrong in my assumption, starting out with surety, but quickly listening to melancholy seeping into my own voice, a tumult of unexpected emotions rising up within me. "Life without someone to call a friend would be...difficult. Lonely. Friends are...important; they are people who shield you from harm, comfort you when you are sad, hold you up when life becomes to much. Friendship is...loyalty and betrayal, honesty and deception, kindness and cruelty, generosity and selfishness, laughter and heartbreak."

I'd lost myself, thinking of old and new faces, somewhere along the way and cleared my throat, which had suddenly constricted. "Friendship is...complicated, but worth it."

I let my eyes, suspiciously wet, shift back to Regulus from where they had drifted to watch the roiling fire.

The look on Regulus' face was...

...so many things I couldn't possibly begin to describe.

"You know...your father was a seventh year when I started Hogwarts," Regulus eventually said, his voice contemplative. "I remember him...and I can't say he's changed that much from his school days. Your mother and I knew each other quite well when we were children, too...despite the age gap."

Leveling another unreadable gaze at me, he frowned thoughtfully.

"I cannot begin imagine how they managed to raise a child like you."

My fists balled, despite the fact that I was fairly sure it wasn't intended as an insult.

"And then again...you're as proud as Lucius and Narcissa combined, when I look at you the right way. You're cunning and intelligent, just like your parents. Perceptive, shrewd, and cold...I can see them in you...but at the same time you don't act anything like them. If Draco had learned that the mother of my children was a mudblood, I think he would have run to your father faster than a broom in flight. Why didn't you?"

_Ah...so that is what all of this is about._

I relaxed a bit as the reason behind the probing became clear. I'd actually been awaiting this conversation, this confrontation, for months. When Regulus failed to say anything, merely watching me like a hawk when I came over to play Virgo and Sagittarius, I relaxed my guard.

_And that'll show me. Point to you, Lord Black._

I swallowed, knowing this was the moment of truth. Instead of making a terribly forward proclamation about pureblood and muggleborn equality, I had already decided to (months ago, when Regulus could have asked me this question at any time) go with something a little more neutral.

Something safe.

Something that wouldn't actually get me punished if it got back to my parents, merely a stern conversation about dangerous ideas.

"If there was something wrong with muggleborns," I emphasized the term carefully. "then it would be self-evident. If there was something wrong with a muggleborn's blood, then you would be able to notice it in their children. If my parents and their guests couldn't notice anything wrong with your children, then I can hardly be blamed for misunderstanding the situation, can I?"

Another long silence as I drained my Pumpkin Juice.

"For someone who doesn't think much of politics, I think you'd be awfully good at it," Regulus eventually said. "You're very good at answering a question without saying anything."

"I must disagree, Lord Black...I believe I said a great deal," I replied, feigning an obtuse misunderstanding.

Regulus snorted, "I suppose you did at that, Desdemona Malfoy. I think I've kept you long enough, though. My mother wanted to speak with you."

My eyebrows rose even as I stood to follow the older man out of the Drawing Room. On the cusp of exiting the doorway, though, he stopped abruptly, but did not turn to meet my gaze. "I don't think I have to warn you that this conversation is not something for your father or mother's ears."

"I would have to inform my parents of anything untoward," I replied ambiguously, "but a conversation concerning my interactions with Lord Black's children wouldn't be anything unusual even if they should ask."

At this, Lord Black shot me a long look over his shoulder, before turning and continuing towards the stairs.

I decided to brave a question for myself. "Are Virgo and Sagittarius visiting their mother?"

Another silence stretched between my question and his answer, so much so that I occupied myself with watching the portraits as they moved about. Finally, Regulus spoke.

"Yes, she's staying with family in Italy. She, much like my mother, is ill," Regulus answered.

"I'm sorry," I replied honestly, catching the undertone that intimated it was not a temporary kind of sickness. "From what they've told me of her, she sounds like a good woman."

"She is," Lord Black answered quietly.

We didn't speak to each other further.

I kept my own counsel as I pondered mine and Lord Black's exchange.

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

Walburga Black was, at one point in time, a beautiful young witch.

I'd seen pictures of her in the society pages of a Daily Prophet from forty years prior, when her marriage to Orion Black was announced. It was evidently the talk of the pureblood upper crust for months and I'd kept a copy of the front-page wedding photo for my growing genealogy.

Through pure coincidence, the year she and Orion had gotten married was also the year a certain Dark Lord graduated from Hogwarts and, as Head Boy, had a small picture of his own placed in the society pages as well. Buried under a mass of inconsequential birth certificates in my room was a slowly growing file on the life and times of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Enough of his life had lined up with what I already knew that I felt fairly certain of his identity as Lord Voldemort. Still, I was irritated that there was so little in terms of paper records regarding the mysterious child who would become the most prominent figure short of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter in recent history. Riddle had been careful, leaving just the barest dregs of records.

I had the Prophet article which recorded his Special Services Award.

I had the Auror report (which had been part luck and part insanity on my part to even try and acquire) regarding Riddle's theft from Borgin & Burkes.

I had a few other documents scrounged up (and a few outright stolen from the Ministry archives) that were related to Riddle and the Gaunt Family...the arrest of his uncle and the subsequent death record, but not much else.

This was the kind of frustration Dumbledore had felt when trying to track his wayward student down, I knew.

Even with my head start, it had taken me nearly an entire year to find a dozen pieces of evidence, amounting to barely anything which could be termed 'incriminating.'

Then again, Dumbledore had the advantage of not needing to maintain the cover of a seven-year-old. I was terribly limited in what I could sneak and thieve without doing something or being somewhere that would arouse suspicion. After all, one could only 'get lost' so many times without it getting back to my father (or without them calling my father to come get me, which would be _bad_).

I banished these thoughts as we stepped up to the dark oaken door and Regulus knocked.

Grimmuald Place hadn't deteriorated quite to the extent it had under Kreacher's watch and, without the trauma of Voldemort's potion and Regulus' death, the Elf seemed much more inclined to actually 'clean' rather than merely sort and categorize the decay of the building.

"Enter," a weak voice, trying to be strong, called out.

The Walburga Black of today was a wizened wretch of her former self. She had deteriorated a bit from the last time I'd seen her nearly a month before, but it had been obvious for years that the sexagenarian was living on borrowed time.

She was slowly dieing.

I bent at the waist again, showing her the respect of a Lady of the House even as I noted Regulus closing the door behind me, leaving me alone with the older woman. "Lady Black, you asked to see me."

A wheezing sigh escaped her as she swept back a few locks of graying black hair, "Desdemona, such a well-manner girl. You have much of your mother in you, child."

After what Regulus had said, the compliment tasted bitter, but I took it for what it was. "You honor me, Lady Black."

She was quiet for a moment, studying me as I righted myself. Her steel-gray eyes flickered over me, searching for imperfections and I mentally thanked Mother for being so exactingly demanding in my preparations.

"Kreacher!" The woman barked suddenly, and I barely kept myself from jumping in fright. When the Elf appeared, Walburga speared him with a gold gaze and demanded, "Tea."

The Elf bowed and disappeared after a quick, muttered, "Yes, Mistress."

With the instruction given, Lady Black looked back towards me, giving me a cool glance. "Kreacher has been ordered to inform me when any guests arrive, child. It told me when you arrived...yet even though I had informed Regulus you were to be sent to me immediately, he kept you for some time. What did my son speak to you of, Desdemona?"

_Loaded question, much? Okay, how best to answer her...of course, she probably knows exactly what we talked about if that ruddy elf was listening...or the portraits were spying. Damn it, I've got to be more careful. So...salvage the situation, damage control._

"We talked of my reasons for consorting with his children, Lady Black," I said, completely honestly if entirely misleading. "Lord Black-"

"That disappointment will _never _be Lord Black!" Walburga spat and devolved into a coughing fit. As tea arrived I hurried myself in pouring the ill woman a cup before easing it to her mouth.

"Kreacher! Potion!" Walburga ordered the Elf through her hacking.

After her fit had settled down and a drought of some glimmering substance had been emptied, the woman regained her stately reclining posture. "Thank you, Desdemona...and please, call be Aunt Walburga, child."

"Thank you, Aunt Walburga...and I apologize for exciting your condition so," said with honest grief. She might have been a terrible person, a bitter old soul with little left in the world but she stubborn _meanness_, but...she was also family.

And an old woman in pain.

The decapitated Elf heads on the staircase flashed in my mind and I pushed the thought away.

_Why can't life ever be simple?_

"Not your fault child...and let us dispense with the fiction that I am unaware of the specifics of Regulus' discussion with you," Walburga ordered imperiously, as if she had not been on the verge of collapse moments before. "You are a mudblood sympathizer."

Expecting the allegation, I showed no response even as my insides twisted in panic.

"The only sympathies I have are with House Malfoy and House Black," I answered honestly, though incompletely. Unless Harry Potter turned out to be possessed by the shard of Voldemort's soul in his scar (or some other dark magic) I was going to covertly back him against Riddle.

"And what of your words to my son?" Walburga pressed mockingly, derision in her gaze. "That pureblood could not notice a halfblood or mudblood in their midst? That you would not be telling you parents of my son's...indiscretion?"

"I would not presume to air my family's dirty laundry to those who might allow the information to leak in...more public ways," I explained, rationalizing my choice as best I could. "As to your earlier observation, I believe that a pureblood's superiority is self-evident...there is little point in deriding and insulting those who are already beneath you...especially if you are tied to them by blood."

There was something like a smile on Walburga's face as I finished.

It wasn't what anyone sane or rational would call a smile...it had too much cunning and cruelty in it...to much resentment and anger at the world.

All of the reasons I had given were _technically true_. My Mother, for all of her virtues easily apparent to me, was a terrible gossip when she held her court of lovely little pureblood wives. I was actually a bit surprised at the way they pandered to the latest bit of titillating news trickling down from the newest scandal...though I suppose I shouldn't have been. Gossip was currency in those circles, just as with muggles.

_Which reminds me...I have to think up a new excuse to get out of this week's Tet-a-Tet._

"What House do you believe you will be in, Desdemona?" Walburga decided on asking, tearing the conversation away with whiplash speeds to a new subject.

"Ravenclaw," I answered without hesitation, proud of the fact and having put a lot of thought into it. Seeing as how my 'strategy' for life so far consisted of hiding and not drawing attention to myself, it was the perfect house. I checked all of the requisite characteristics and it would allow me to stay in good standing with my parents while flying 'under the radar' so to speak.

_Although...maybe I should have been less honest? Maybe for...I don't know? That exact reason?!_

"It would be a tragedy if you are not sorted into Slytherin," Walburga commented dryly, staring at me intently. "Though...I suppose children do end up in unexpected places..."

Her voice faded as she went on, probably thinking of her oldest son, even now rotting away in Azkaban, and the surprise of his own sorting. Guilt at knowing I might be able to get him out burned in my throat even as my imagination painted the misery of his existence. I stilled my tongue, though. Even though the 'crime' he was imprisoned for looked exactly like the one depicted in the books...I couldn't be sure. I had to be sure before I got a criminal out of jail...someone who might be a raving lunatic in this world...or a bloodthirsty Death Eater.

_I have to be sure._

Suddenly interrupting the silence between us, two people lost in guilt for different reasons, Kreacher popped into the room. "Master Regulus' spawn have arrived, Mistress."

Walburga and I snapped out of our respective trances, the old woman looking at me once more before nodding, as if she had come to a decision. "Do take care dear...and tell your mother I expect her to visit soon. I trust that you will take care of my grandchildren Desdemona? Halfbreeds as they are...they are dear to Regulus."

I wondered at the request, but nodded before bowing on my way out. "Of course, Aunt Walburga...I'd do anything for family."

Then the door closed and I heaved an explosively silent sigh of relief as I sagged against the opposing wall. Then, paranoia creeping in, I straightened as my eyes snapped around, glaring at the portraits and paintings.

_The walls have ears!_

The half-hysterical thought made me undeniably and deeply thankful that Malfoy Manor was somewhat less bedecked with ancestral portraits as Grimmuald Place. Even then I resolved to reexamine my usual routines and determine if I was being 'watched.'

_Its only paranoia if they aren't out to get you...Constant Vigilance!_

Breathing deeply to calm the welling panic, I pondered the conversation I'd just had. It was unlikely that Walburga or Regulus was going to allow Mother or Father to be privy to our conversation, given that it was an embarrassment for the Black family...so much so that Walburga was evidently set on leaving the family Headship to Sirius, even though he was still in prison.

That was...relieving in some ways.

Worrisome in others.

I did wonder at the fact that Narcissa and Lucius hadn't caught on to Sagittarius and Virgo's mixed heritage, but...well I think they were already a little bit scandalized by the fact that Regulus had married an Italian 'pureblood,' rather than come home. Granted, I wasn't sure of the circumstances behind that 'extended vacation' of his either, so he probably obfuscated things well enough for it not to be an issue.

_Merlin dammit...I am too young to be worrying about these things! I am not going to get anywhere with this mess anyway...besides, I'm not sure if changing the situation would be beneficial...and I can't do that without explaining why I kept my mouth shut so long anyway...and then I'd be without a way to learn French! And I need French for my 3__rd__ year because of Beauxbatons...and that stupid book on elemental rune schemes too..._

Palming my face, I took a deep breath and released the tension that had been building, using my mantra to still my thoughts as the tumultuous ocean of my mind became quiet once again. Exhaling once more, I went down to meet Tarry and Virgo. Hopefully they would be better company than their grandmother.

* * *

Oooh, Desdemona's getting in over her head, methinks. So, Draco and Desdemona have begun actually 'fighting' now, instead of just ignoring each other as much as possible. I actually have plans for this, if you're thinking its going to be a disposable gag, so don't be looking forward to a cease fire in the Malfoy Sibling War anytime soon. So, yes, Desdemona's mask has slipped a little bit, but she's lucked out. Given the situation, I don't think Walburga would tell Lucius and Narcissa (or anyone else for that matter) about the situation given that she's so close to dieing and is worried about the future of the family. There's also that fact that Regulus was a dutiful son for so long, and her only son 'left' that she does feel a certain obligation to forgive this one 'lapse.'

Anway, next chapter looks like it will probably cover some genealogical research at the Ministry (with maybe a surprise guest), Dezzy doing a little magic, and...maybe some fencing or more fighting with Draco. I'm actually wondering if this fic has enough 'Draco' in it, given that he's the protagonist's sister. Hmm...probably going to have a bit more in the next few chapters before Hogwarts starts.

So, Read and Review Please...or at least take the time to tell me why you hate me and curse my name!

Ah, one last thing...how would everyone feel about a Hellsing Crossover? With Integra Windgates Hellsing as a Hogwarts student in Desdemona's year?

Addendum: No, no crossover with Hellsing. It has been pointed out that a) this is a silly idea [by far the more popular comment] and b) Integra Hellsing is a Badass Normal and making her a Witch would take something away from that. So, no Hellsing crossover. Thank you all for reviewing!

Peace Out, Slayer Anderson.


	8. Chapter 8

Slayer Anderson

In Bad Faith Chapter 8

A Harry Potter Self-Insert

08/05/2013

* * *

Chapter VIII – A Day at the Office

* * *

The Ministry Archives.

Those who know of the name live in fear of it...and for good reason.

I'd been to the British Museum of Natural History...before, and I remembered being able to boast of the fact that I'd gotten lost three times in a single day. I'd dedicated that entire day of the trip to the museum so I found it fairly enjoyable, though my feet did begin to ache after some time. To make the comparison, though, the British Museum of Natural History doesn't have _anything_ on the size or complexity Ministry of Magic Archives.

Part of the reason is magic.

Another part of it is human sloth.

The final ingredient is bureaucracy.

When you mix the three, the resulting morass of documentation and records stretches back centuries in a disorganized mess that has long transcended merely 'epic' and become a source of legendary terror for anyone stupid enough to get assigned to the Department of Records.

Surely it can't be that bad?

When I had been just getting the lay of the land in my first month, I saw a wizard walk by with a set of files looking for the proper storage area. Being a quiet child as I was, I edged myself out of the way to avoid any bothersome questions about parents and whether I needed help and whatnot. As the wizard stopped before a certain file cabinet, he began pulling, and pulling, and pulling...and pulling.

The isles of the row he was standing in seemed to _bend_ to make way for the obviously expanded file drawer in a way that my mind didn't quite want to understand. After approximately a hundred feet of aging manilla folders, the wizard in question looked both right and left...

...and then proceeded to jam his files sloppily into random places before walking quickly away, as if he were afraid of being caught.

Imagine, for a moment, if you gave your average pre-digital age office worker the ability to increase, arbitrarily, the space within a given storage area and little oversight over the actual organization or maintenance of that area. Finally, compound the situation by making the filing system (what little actually exists) an outdated catastrophe which has been accumulating for nearly five centuries.

There are three main storage rooms, all of which I'd not be surprised to find have been enlarged beyond Hogwarts' Great Hall. I'd actually asked a few of the clerks (when I could find them, they usually hid among the stacks in fear of actually being required to do work) and one of them explained that the Archives worked under what was known as 'Compounded Expansion Charms.'

So, in addition to the main storage areas being magically enlarged, as well as the dozen or so smaller (though that word means little in this context) records rooms, the areas between the shelves themselves are magically enlarged. Then the _shelves _are magically enlarged. The insides of the filing cabinets are magically enlarged.

Once I fully understood the enormity of the horror I'd been presented with, I was distantly reminded of the stories I'd read where someone acquired an enchanted trunk and lived in it for months at a time. While, evidently such a tactic was _feasibly possible_, the usual wizard approach was a combination of traditional thinking (a.k.a. "why bother") and the sheer conventional laziness of owning a home being easier (arguable, but many people preferred having a home in which to raise children and invite guests over, etc...). This was why you didn't see wizards and witches running around living out of boxes; these two powerful pieces of social condition worked against the idea. With something like an archive, where laziness and social conditioning work _for you_, the result is...

You could _safari _through the Ministry Archives.

"Welcome back, Ms. Malfoy, and how are you this fine day?" Mr. Malcolm, the head of the Department of Records greeted me from behind his desk as I walked into the massive space.

"Well enough," I replied with a tad bit less of my usual chilly tone. Robert Malcom and I had a mutual, beneficial understanding.

I didn't ask for help.

He didn't care what I accessed.

The man was so incredibly slothful, so terribly lazy...that I could almost admire it. He did less than ten minutes of actual work on any given day, foisting anything he could onto the shoulders of his subordinates. Since he was the Department Head, this meant that he had plenty of people to drop work onto and also that no one would ever call him on it. He also had the questionable honor as being one of the highest positioned muggleborns in the Ministry of Magic.

Over the past year, I'd come to realize that this was because he did so little work, people had by and large forgotten his position existed. I expected that if I walked up to Cornelius Fudge himself, the Minister of Magic, that he would be extremely surprised to learn that the Department of Records had a Department Head at all, much less any number of staff.

Why?

Because all of Mr. Malcolm's subordinate employees disliked work just as much as he did and dropped the work they received onto the shoulders of their juniors. Who then dropped it on those individuals below them. Who then (quite literally) dropped everything they could into the nearest shelf and walked away to take a five hour lunch break.

As a result of long-term study, I had determined exactly how the whole department worked.

Anything that was 'filed' in the last...twenty or so years, could be found with relative ease as long as one knew approximately when the document or paper had been filed. You see, much like geological layers in stone, the documentation of the last two decades was stratified. If one looked carefully through each and every page of a given year's paperwork, you could find almost anything.

Even the budget reports.

All there for the curious average citizen.

Well, everything except for the Auror Reports, the Unspeakable's Department Documents, and a few other sets of sensitive records. For those, you actually had to pay a visit to the department in question and look up the relevant records in their (typically much better, I'd learned) filing system. After I'd realized this, I'd 'gotten lost' during Ministry's lunch hour and copied over the details of the Sirius Black Incident and Riddle's theft of the Chalice and Locket before an Auror had wandered in and found me. Which, I'll admit, was the most hair-raising experience I'd been through in this lifetime.

_I'm just a sad little six year old trying to make daddy proud by looking for important papers...please, mister, can't you help me? I'm lost!_

...and good lord I didn't believe that poor rookie Auror had actually bought the act.

_No more of that, though. Once was more than enough...and its way too dangerous to have a habit of 'getting lost' in the Auror Records Room. I don't need the reputation that would get me._

I sighed and resolved myself to the search materials before me. There was no use wishing on things I couldn't get access to. Besides, I was close.

"Close, close, close," I tutted under my breath, the sound of my own voice comforting in the noiseless void between the isles. "I've been 'close' for a month..."

Theoretically speaking, I was nearly done researching the last hundred years' worth of Malfoy family members and the extraneous pureblood relations associated with our line.

_But something is bugging me, something is bugging the buggering hell out of me..._

It was what I had taken to calling the 'Point of Divergence,' or just 'The Point' for short.

It was the hypothetical point where the canon Harry Potter timeline diverged from the one I lived in and, to the best of my ability, I had tracked it down to between 1930 and 1950. Sure twenty years might seem like a long stretch of time, but compared to the millennia I'd started out with, I'd come a long way merely by working backwards.

Of course, I hadn't found The Point itself, but I was fairly sure it had something to do with Tom Riddle's birth or Gellert Grindlewald's rise to power.

Which was all kinds of _Not Good_.

It was also a bit of a relief.

On the one hand, it meant the horcruxes might be completely different and I might not be able to lend any appreciable aid to the Golden Trio, which would be bad. On the other hand, it meant that I, Desdemona Malfoy, was not the cause of a potentially disastrous departure from a 'safe' timeline.

It meant that my potential knowledge of the future might be worthless.

It meant I was able to sleep soundly at night again.

_But what is it?!_

I was so occupied by my thought, gazing at the general area where I thought a clue might lie, that I almost didn't hear the footsteps. They were quiet, barely there even against the numbing silence of the archives room. Restraining myself, I mimed looking at my pocket watch (wristwatches were terribly muggle devices according to Father) to get a glance behind me using the mirrored surface on the inside of the watch cover. My lips twitched at the upside down figure reflected in the concave surface.

"You know, your brother is probably out harassing a flock of birds right now," a snide, disdaining voice drawled. I smothered a grin, knowing he wouldn't appreciate it.

_Okay, so Godfather has grown on me a bit...granted, he's still a foul obnoxious greasy bat, but...well, he's also an incredibly snarky, witty, and intelligent adult that actually listens to me on occasion. Mother and Father...they're good parents for all that they might actually be evil politicians and racist murderers, but they are my parents._

"Godfather," I said, enunciating the word clearly and cleanly while maintaining an austere calmness on my face. "This is a pleasant surprise...is the term at Hogwarts going well. I assume Slytherin is in line to win the House Cup again?"

It had been one of the many things Severus liked to subtly gloat over in my presence. It had taken a few months to piece it together, but I'd come to the conclusion that my Godfather was trying to push me towards 'choosing' his own house rather than Ravenclaw. I think he hoped that I would make up for the the rather...unintelligent sibling who was nearly predestined for green and silver.

"As well as the Quidditch Cup," Severus said pointedly. "Of course, the old fool attempted to sabotage the award as he does every year, but a dunderhead Gryffindor provided liberal excuses to cut the legs out from under his argument."

Idly, I wondered who he was talking about since, if memory served, the Weasley Twins wouldn't be at Hogwarts until the next year. "Congratulations, Godfather...though I can't help but wonder what it is that brings you to the Ministry Archives."

It wasn't a question, since it was rude to so directly pump my elders for information, but it was a fairly neutral prompt for an explanation.

_In other words, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Professor Greaseball?_

"Your birthday is approaching," Severus said with equal neutrality. "I was in the Ministry on business with your father and he mentioned you were still plumbing the depths of the Archives after I mentioned being curious about what you desired as a gift. I was curious to see if you had finally found what you were looking for."

My face tightened slightly, enough to know that I'd given myself away even as I denied it. "Godfather, I'm afraid you're mistaken. I'm still doing research for my genealogy project, as Father should have told you."

Satisfaction glimmered in Snape's eyes while I smothered a twinge of irritation. Intelligence might be an admirable trait for conversations, but there were other times when it was far more inconvenient.

"If that were the case, I doubt you would show such dedication to combing the Archives. Lucius allowed me to peruse your family library a few times in my youth and I can attest that you likely only needed six months to find enough material that you would no longer need these biweekly trips," Severus explained dryly.

I quelled the panic rising within my gut. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of showing my distress, "Godfather, I'm afraid you've overestimated my competence. I was terribly confused about where to find things when I first came to the Archives. I needed time to learn where the various files and records were located in this labyrinth."

Severus gave me a long, searching look that was part admiration (likely for lying so well to his face) and part irritation (probably at being forced to both confront me and further ferret out information from me). "If anything, I'd say I'm underestimating both your intelligence and your gall, child. Still, I find myself consumed by curiosity at what a seven year old could possibly be searching for among dusty and irrelevant documents spanning a century back."

_...and isn't that an awfully pointed observation? I seriously don't like this conversation._

"...and you have also declined to ever look me in the eyes," Severus continued, a softer and more venomous tone coming to the fore. My fingers itched for something to defend myself with, eventually settling on my pocket watch; though I doubted this little standoff would come to blows, the weight in my hand and the knowledge that I could swing it to impact Snape's face was comforting. "I'll not ask again...what are you looking for?"

I swallowed, my mind racing as I attempted to come up with a theory. Something which was incriminating enough to hide from my parents, but not necessarily 'dangerous' or illegal. As seconds ticked by, an idea blossomed in my mind. It was something I had...entertained, but mostly as whimsy rather than any actual game plan, something that I had planned on possibly following up on in a few years, but...

_Okay, play it cool and don't act contrite or guilty, Snape is smart enough to see through an act._

Making a show of looking about me, I turned back to the expectant and knowing gaze of my Godfather. "Could you...is there a spell that will make it difficult for someone to listen in on us?"

Severus' eyebrows rose even as he waved his wand about in a few quick swipes, silently I noted. "Unless you believe the topic to be one of life and death, which I will be most displeased in finding out, this should be a satisfactory level of security."

I was silent for another beat, then nodded.

"I want to disprove the existence of muggleborns."

The look on Snape's face was almost worth having my stomach twist itself into knots.

_Believe it believe it believe it believe it believe it believe it!_

I was also immensely thankful that you couldn't read minds without eye contact.

"Elaborate," Severus demanded a moment later, his eyes beaded on my like a hawk's.

"Current theory states that the popularly accepted beliefs concerning magic and magical inheritance revolve around a personified force of magic essentially 'blessing' an individual with the capacity for magic or, alternatively, receiving it through a bloodline which has proved itself 'worthy.'"

I paused here, both slightly out of breath from reciting my quickly-contrived story so quickly and to see if Godfather was going to pass preliminary judgment on me and merely drag me to confront my father on the matter.

He was silent, which I took as a motion to continue.

"During my research into the Malfoy family genealogy, which I actually was quite interested in," I stated sourly, and truthfully. After I'd gotten into the subject, I'd quickly become enthralled with my family's history and the general history of the pureblood lines attached to significant British history. "I noticed that certain families tend to...'pop back up' after an extended period without magical inheritance. Although they seem to die out, they actually just produced squibs for a generation or two or three, then several of the grandchildren end up possessing magical abilities."

Severus was staring at me with such an intensity that I thought I might catch fire.

"I was just...gathering evidence." I admitted, not having to fake my sudden embarrassment at being such a point of interest for the older man. I was also embarrassed at having gotten caught in such a simple pursuit. Granted, Severus was a seasoned double-agent and he was likely confronting me only because he did, on occasion, show that he cared about me and didn't want to see me get in over my head.

Now I needed to show that I was worthy of that concern.

By lying my little pureblood arse off.

Because admitting I was investigating Tom Riddle and the Death Munchers? That was about the definition of dangerous and would likely cause Godfather to get a little...irritated with me.

_The best part? Everything I said was technically true. I had noticed the trend that muggle-borns tended to have parents or grandparents or great-grandparents (or even further back) which were squibs from pureblood lines. I just wasn't planning on saying anything about it...maybe I'd drop a clue or two to Hermione, provided she was just as bookish as per canon, and see what happened._

"...and the evidence you've gathered?" Severus asked calmly.

"Aron McKinney, Beatrix Verrow, and Peter Pettigrew...among others," I admitted, the only three I could currently remember. "They were the ones I noticed first. Pettigrew's mother's mother and his father's mother were both squibs from pureblood lines. The...Smith's and Prewett's, respectively."

_And boy, that was a surprise._

"The others have similar stories," I confessed, uncomfortable with revealing one of my 'aces' from my research. I'd learned a few things that could have...interesting ramifications, if I applied them correctly to Wizarding society and letting someone else know went against my sensibilities.

Snape was silent, his eyes distant.

"You will speak of this to no one," he said slowly, gravely. "Your father would not take this news well, I think...nor the fact that you've gone behind his back for it. I will need regular reports on your progress concerning your little...theory."

_...dammit. Merlin-fucking-arsewiping-dammit! No! I need that time! I can't just freaking...urgh! I have shite to do, you bird-nosed prick!_

The disagreement must have been plain on my face because Snape's tone softened as he spoke next, "...in compensation, I might take some advice on my choice of gift."

_...double-fucking dammit, Sevvy, you greasy son of a bat. That is about the only thing that would tempt me into giving up my study time. Merlin, and I'm just getting to broken-fluency in French, too. Okay, maybe if I cut...what? Sleep? I don't need sleep that much, do I? Ugh...I'll have to drop...something._

I slumped slightly, "Yes, Godfather."

His smirk widened, satisfied as he turned to idly peruse the shelves, "...and your compensation?"

_Options, options, options...let's see, I've always wanted a Bag of Holding, but I'm pretty sure I've dropped enough hints about that to Mother, even if she doesn't understand why I could possibly want something like that. Hmm...there's not way Mother or Father are getting me Omnioculars seeing as how they're so close to 'carnival fare' in terms of gifts...but I can buy one of those myself at a Quidditch game. Okay, this is Snape we're talking about...there's probably something on my long list of things I'd love to have that he can get me..._

The hardest part of answering his question wasn't coming up with something, it was narrowing down my options. There were a great many just plain _nifty _toys that the magical world treated as everyday appliances and even, or especially, the unusual and hard-to-get ones were endlessly useful. Still, there was something which I wanted, mainly for future use and...if I could get Severus to keep it in his office...

"Vanishing cabinets," I said shortly, very little of my ingrained politeness showing.

Snape blinked, his expression turning a bit mulish as he contemplated the rather expensive nature of the gift. Because I could see refusal plain on his face, I decided to sweeten the deal.

"If you really don't want Mother and Father to know about my research, I need to be able to get stuff to you without using Boreas, our family owl. If you keep one in your office, I can keep the other in my study and we can exchange information whenever necessary," I explained stoically, attempting to regain my cool demeanor and bargain from a position of strength. While it was true that, for whatever reasons Godfather wanted copies of my (nearly nonexistent) work on muggleborn bloodlines, and that I would need an untraceable way in which to get him information, there were other ways such could be accomplished.

I could use Dobby, who would be obligated to answer any pointed questions Lucius had if he ever found out about my correspondence with Snape. We could use another intermediary or Snape could get me an owl for my birthday, but neither of those were absolutely secure in a way either of us would be truly comfortable with. There were other options, like books which could be enchanted to copy written text over to a mated book, allowing another person to read what was written, but those enchantments could be tampered with and a third book could be inserted into the chain without anyone's knowledge.

_Who knew reading all of those Wizarding spy-thrillers would come in handy._

Granted, the genre was less spy-thriller and more Medieval magical espionage, but it shared quite a bit with the more modern James Bond series in terms of covert information warfare. Although it had suffered a bit of a downturn in popularity since Voldemort's rise, the Malfoy library was nothing if not an eclectic mix of literature across the ages.

By comparison, though, Vanishing Cabinets were the 'safest' way to move sensitive objects and material over a long distance.

Of course, that wasn't _exactly _the reason I wanted them, but it was a good excuse.

"I'll think on the matter," Snape finally said, even as I struggled not to break out in a grin.

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

My journals had been a particularly inspired move on my part.

Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was quite proud of remembering a little 'trick' I'd learned during my last childhood. Even as an adult, but especially as a kid, I'd loved keeping secrets; the idea that I could ferret away information or treasures where no one else could find them was extremely enticing. To that end, I'd used 'invisible ink' to write out...

Well, during my last childhood, it hadn't been anything particularly important. Little doodles and a few biting remarks about an irritating teacher that I hated...but the important part of it was that I could hide them at will from my parents or my friends or siblings at will.

It had all been in good fun back then.

Now, it was a way to keep my mind straight.

In the stack of slim notebooks my mother had given me, I'd devoted the fronts of pages to my everyday life, dreams, and various things that Desdemona Malfoy needed to keep track of. On the backs of the pages, using a fountain pen I'd had Dobby procure for me, I wrote down my real secrets...

Vinegar is just about the best, cheap, most common invisible ink someone can easily get their hands on. Its a little watery, but it reacts to heat and red cabbage water, both revealing agents that are easy to acquire, but unlikely to be exposed to the paper accidentally. If you really want to get a good result, though, mix the vinegar with egg whites and, not only will the result be thicker and easier to write with, but it will react under black light.

No muss, no fuss, no magic.

_Take that purebloods._

Carefully dipping the corner of a hand towel into the bowl of shredded red cabbage leaves and water, I wiped the excess fluid on the edge before sliding the slightly damp cloth over the page, my eyes drinking in the crude Old English scrawl that was my final level of 'encoding' and protection. It was sloppy, the spellings irregular and the letters warped to create what was very nearly my own 'dialect' of the language.

_"...The First Magic: Denial of Nothingness, application of True Sorcery to violate laws of thermodynamics and create 'something' from 'nothing.' Relation to Conjuration/Advanced Transfiguration? 'Magic' used as substance, like plastic in a mold? Or magic used to induce creation of stable material?"_

I shook my head and wiped the page using another cloth, this one with the faint 'tingle' of magic. This piece of fabric had a minor enchantment to clean spills and excess drips on parchment. After a little testing, I'd determined it worked well enough to remove my revealing solution while leaving my 'ink.'

...although I wasn't sure why, given that my ink wasn't really ink at all, but a homebrew concoction that should rightfully categorize as an accidentally spilled fluid and, therefore, be removed from the pages.

_Magic...I will never understand magic. Oh well, if it ain't broke, don't fix it._

Shaking my head again, I selected another of my notebooks to search. I was looking for a specific section that I'd written years ago. I remembered the general idea of the few paragraphs, but I needed details if I was going to figure out my current problem. Ever since meeting Godfather in the Ministry Archives a few days prior, I'd had to rush to get my notes written up into a cohesive set of documents that would pass the man's inspection. Add that to the fact that I was still having my normal tutoring sessions, my fencing practices, and a few final etiquette lessons from my mother, my week had been far too busy for my liking.

I yawned.

_So sue me, I do need sleep...at least mother is cutting my etiquette classes soon. Its good to see that some problems will actually solve themselves if you let them. Now, let's see...this might be it._

I focused in on the revealed passage.

_"...look into Grindelwald-Hitler connection. How intertwined was G.G.'s organization with the Nazi party or German muggle military? Goals? Overt or covert cooperation? Check into Thule Society and Nazi occult leanings. Canon events do not delineate about involvement, but speculation concerning G.G.'s preoccupation with the Hallows points to 'no,' unless using Ahnenerbe and Himmler to search for Stone/Cloak. If so, what was Nazi benefit? Imperius used on/for?"_

I bit my lip softly, rereading the short paragraph before pulling out a front-page picture from the Daily Prophet, dated August 3rd 1935. The photo was of a middle-aged Gellert Grindelwald standing next to someone I easily recognized as Adolf Hitler. The two were shaking hands amicably even as the understated figure of Heinrich Himmler lurked in the background near a group of black-robed wizards.

The headline read: German Minister of Magic lays groundwork for Wizarding-Muggle Relations to Improve.

Looking closely, one could just make out the tiny badge of a sword and runic circle pinned to the wizards' cloaks. Sliding the photo into the book with a shaking hand, I wiped away the cabbage-water and shoved the notebook back into its place.

This was not good news.

As 'fun' as I remember it being to speculate about Grindelwald's involvement with the Nazi regime in Germany, there had been _nothing_ to canonically prove such. In fact, given the way I remember the books being written, it was extremely doubtful that such a connection existed. The bulk of Grindelwald's character was his infatuation with Albus...it was probably his devil-may-care attitude about the use of Unforgivables in his search for the Deathly Hallows which earned him the moniker of Dark Lord.

_Although, Grindelwald as a historical figure has little enough written about him that its difficult to draw conclusions as to his motivations. This is...just great._

"Why is it always Nazis?" I groaned dejectedly, rubbing a hand over my eyes. "Next thing you know its going to be aliens, demons, Atlantis, and Shangri-La."

I threw myself onto the bed of my much cleaner room. Ever since Father had allowed me to use the West Wing's study for my own purposes, I'd been able to store and organize a great deal of my research materials much more effectively. Now, only a few sets of books which I was currently reading adorned my shelves in addition to my journals and assorted reference tomes. My room had become less 'workplace' and more 'sanctuary,' though I was still cautious of what I left laying about. Really, the only things truly incriminating were my notes on the Harry Potter canon...and I was sure enough of their relative safety given my precautions.

"Does this mean anything, though?" I asked my ceiling. As usual, it declined to respond.

It looked as though I had reached the limit of what my non-invasive research could accomplish. Unless I wanted to begin pilfering Auror files and breaking into the Hall of Prophecies or something like that, I was out of luck. Which meant...I didn't have anything to, well...'do.'

There was no way to prepare for the storm I was sure was coming.

Anxiety stirred in my gut even as I called up my Occlumency exercise. Even though the mantra had begun to become second nature to me, the comfort it brought was brittle and chill.

In many ways, I had been clinging to the hope that there was some...pardon the pun, but 'magic' solution to the problems I was facing. I wanted to be able to find that one, hidden solution that no one else had thought of...that would solve _everything_; Harry's imprisonment with the Dursleys, Sirius' at Azkaban, prevent the second rise of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and give everyone a happy ending. I wanted to be able to prove I was 'special' in some way, something that made be better than even the fantastic world I now lived in.

"I want to be a Mary Sue," I realized, unsure whether I should laugh or cry. "And I call Draco arrogant...he's not trying to take down a Dark Lord all by his lonesome. He's not whining that he's not 'special enough' or some other tripe."

I was silent as the point sank home, a phantom tune from another life lilting through my head.

"Is this real life?...Not just fantasy," I whispered, feeling that I was probably butchering the lyrics. "Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality...heh." Acting on a whim, I stood and snatched my violin from where it was resting, its bow freshly shining with rosin.

Pressing the strings to each other, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting a song I hadn't heard in years flow through me. Even as the notes sang out, truer than I'd though myself capable of, I pondered on my earlier thoughts.

_I'm not going to be an entitled ponce in this life. I spent my last life going with the flow...I never broke ranks and did something weird and cool with myself. I kept waiting to 'become special,' for someone to come up to me and hand me fate's wining lottery ticket. So what if I can't magic up a solution to all of life's problems at age seven...almost eight._

The last note rang free and clear and I exhaled, a half-smile on my face.

_I'm Desdemona Malfoy...and I'm going to be the best witch I can be, on my own merit and on my own ability._

I felt...somehow lighter at the though, nearly serene, though the sound of subdued clapping shattered my fragile moment of bliss.

Mother, Narcissa, stood with a beaming smile next to the open door of my room. Obviously, she'd come in at some point during my impromptu solo and merely observed me silently instead of interrupting. An embarrassed, self-conscious flush rose to my cheeks...I really didn't like performing in front of people, at least not with music...or dancing...or flying. Oddly enough, I was okay at public speaking.

"Mother!" I squaked, my voice a few octaves higher than usual, my eyes flickering about as instinct pushed me to 'fight or flight.'

"Oh, hush child," Narcissa smiled, and I was astonished to see her dab at her eyes with a handkerchief. "That was an excellent performance. I dare say you've no more need of lessons if that is the extent of your ability. I shall have to see if Draco's skill is up to par...perhaps we shall arrange a summer duet for the two of you! Yes, out in the gardens...and all of your little friends can come, with their parents, of course!"

I paled.

"A summer equinox brunch? Or maybe a dinner soiree? Yes, I should think that much better. Oh, wait until I tell Lucius, he's been trying to arrange a way to show up that stuffed-shirt Jacob Bones and his wife Helen. I think they even have a girl Draco's age...and a boy your age, Desdemona, if memory serves."

It was like a broom-wreck, I couldn't look away as the situation spiraled out of control. I had seen Mother like this on occasion, usually when she was nattering on with her friends at some afternoon brunch, but...I opened my mouth to object.

"Oh, but look at me, I came to remind you of your fencing lesson, which you are now quite late for. Though I don't know why you insist on that ghastly pastime, Desdemona, you shan't be late; it is unbecoming of a Malfoy. Now, off with you!"

And with that last flurry of words, Mother vanished from whence she came.

I blinked, staring at my empty doorway.

"What."

_Happy place...go to the happy place._

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

Thrust.

"Watch your footwork."

Parry.

"Better, left foot a bit more forwards, though."

Repost.

"Good response, work on your follow-through."

Fencing was an oddity of the Wizarding world, though there were numerous strange aspects of our culture for those who cared to look. Ostensibly a muggle sport, its popularity with the upper class before the Statute of Secrecy was invoked meant it had largely survived the purging of muggle intrests from Wizarding society. There were several theories on why, as numerous other pieces of cultural exchange (such as firearm use, human hand-servants, and Christianity) had died out over the generations since 1689.

Personally, I subscribe to the theory that fencing reminds wizards and witches of the Romantic aspects of the Medieval age, wherein we, as a culture, were considerably more powerful (and relevant) with the world at large. For whatever the reason, though, fencing has survived in Wizarding culture as a niche sport, much less popular than Quidditch, but with a somewhat considerable fan base, especially among the upper echelons of pureblood society.

It's detractors considered it less of a sport, though, and more of a recreational pastime for those with the money and energy to expend on a 'worthless' activity. It's supporters touted it as a way to improve coordination, grace, strength and precision in you wand hand and casting, and a way to measure your dedication to a taxing and exacting art.

I liked it because it meant I got to play around with sharp pointy things.

Father had secured the services of a fencing grandmaster, Enrico Sevelle, from Spain, who had retired to Britain a few years before. The man spoke with slightly accented English, occasionally veering into a biting Spanish retort when I made an especially bad mistake or misstep.

His lessons were grueling, torturous affairs with no indication that he was pampering or babying me...and I appreciated the man for it.

"Stop!" He barked, my body freezing in position, as I had been trained to. Pacing to the left, Master Enrico turned his burning blue gaze on my extended sword arm, then my posture, footwork, and finally, my right hand holding the small defensive dagger.

"I do not know why you insist on the Rapier," He spoke finally, his words coming out in a low growl which I had become accustomed to. "You would suit Epee, Foil, or Saber much better. Body type is...not yet right; your arms do not quite have the strength they need for an extended bout."

I breathed in through my nose, controlling the air flow and expanding my diaphragm into my abdomen.

"I prefer the Rapier," I said stoically, looking down the length of my straight blade.

"As you say, again and again," Master Enrico derided lightly. "Though your body does not. Still, far be it for the master to offer advice when it will not be heeded. Switch guards!"

I spun the blade in my right hand, leaving the Rapier to the air as I flipped the main-gauche into my right hand, grabbing the longer blade in my left.

Master Enrico rolled his eyes, "To have a student so obsessed with theatricality, what has become of me?"

I refrained from smiling. Though he might look like a particularly gruff and no-nonsense instructor (and was in many respects), much like Snape he had a witty and sarcastic side which only someone familiar with the man could pick out. Although he derided my 'theatricality' in the way I switched my blades, I could pick up a faint approval of the deft action in his eyes. He had proved tolerant of my quirks as long as they were performed with the same speed and surety as the more standard prescriptions of fencing.

Standing with the Rapier in my left hand, my off-hand, had been odd at first, though I'd grown used to it. The main-gauche in my right was more comfortable, though, even as it reminded me of the particulars of this 'style.'

"Better," he murmured appreciatively. "Does student remember why we practice off-guard positions?"

I bit back a sigh. "After I get my wand, I'll be holding it where the main-gauche is now. I need to get used to maneuvering my right hand independently of my left. This will also strengthen my off-hand grip so that I can strike more surely."

"Good," Master Enrico nodded, adjusting my position slightly. "Every time you block with main-gauche today, you lose point, yes?"

My eyes widened. Points and 'grades' weren't as important here as in my standard tutoring sessions, but a bad review would spell trouble with Father. "But-"

"-wand is not sword. Wand is not dagger. Wand is not main-gauche. Wand is wand," Master Enrico reprimanded sternly. "If you try to block with wand-_snap_-no more wand. Student understands?"

I cringed. "Yes sir."

As the bout began, I throttled back on my instinctual block with my right-handed weapon, instead maneuvering the longer Rapier in an awkward motion to deflect the blow. In the muggle schools of fencing, the Rapier was no longer considered among the accepted blades, primarily because it was less of a 'sport' blade and more of a lethal instrument. It amused me sometimes, when I considered my derision of a wizard's sense of danger on broom-stick and applauded their lack of caution when it came to the conventions of sword-play.

Because of the 'sword and wand' style of fencing wizards had developed so mimicked the play of Rapier and main-gauche, the blade had been adopted as the blade of choice in wizarding culture. With the combination of a dulled tip and dragon-hide robes (another reason the sport was considered expensive and unnecessary), the blade very seldom penetrated flesh...

_But that doesn't mean it can't leave a nasty bruise!_

I flinched from the impact of the weapon on my lowest right rib, which had probably missed breaking by a near margin and bowed with excruciating slowness to my teacher. As I did so, I soothed my mind with my Occlumency exercise and the pain, or at least my awareness of it, slowly ebbed away.

"You miss two openings. Should have lunged when I gave you chance. I am curious...why did you not?" Master Enrico asked, his eyes piercing.

I took a gasping breath, sweat trickling into my eyes. "I didn't want to overextend myself."

The older man frowned, an odd look in his eyes. "Lunge is not overextension. Lunge is killing blow, final strike of the bout. You cannot overextend when bout is finished."

"But someone else could strike, even if you've finished off your opponent," I explained, my rationale obvious...to me, at least.

Master Enrico eyed me through narrow slits, "Curious...you approach the blade like no other student I have taught. For most, the blade is art, to some it is merely amusement, to others still, it is a chore. You approach it as matter of life and death. You show intent to kill even though you have never needed such, to my knowledge."

I would have frozen had the pain in my side been less. As it was, I was exhausted enough for my 'cover' not to matter so much to me. "Swords-_gasp_-are for killing. Anything less is a sweet and naïve lie. Using a sword is something that-_gasp_-deserves to be treated with respect, to be taken seriously."

The fencing grandmaster turned away from me, concealing his face either intentionally or unintentionally. "You are strange child, Desdemona Malfoy, very strange. I see problem, though...you will not understand the sword as you wish to. Not until you use sword as you think it should be, at least. That will also be last day I teach you, I think."

My eyes widened, "But Master Enrico-"

"No interrupting!" The man growled, spinning sharply to pin me with a harsh look. "I applaud your tenacity, determination, and discipline...all very good. For me, though...sword is art, beauty...beauty that should not be used to kill. Still, I see much art in your skill...flourishes that are unnecessary, but beautiful. You are contradiction...treat sword as instrument of death, but use sword as something graceful and fluid."

"If you can't do something stylishly, why bother?" I asked, my chest heaving painfully as I struggled to keep upright. "Appearances are important."

That was part of why I liked learning how to use a sword, after all. I knew enough about the real world to treat the discipline with respect and caution, but I also loved the noise a blade made flashing through the air and the shimmer given off by a piece of honed steel as it caught the light just right. My eyes glazed as I imagined a particularly awesome sword-fight from a few different media in my past life.

_No matter how you cut it, swords are just cool...and that was an awful pun._

Master Enrico barked out a laugh, a faint smile on his face. "I think...that is all for today. I will see you...Thursday, yes?"

"Yes sir." I nodded, trying to find the least-painful medium between breathing deeply to satisfy my body's need for oxygen and breathing shallowly so as not to aggravate my injury.

* * *

Okay, I'm not completely sure on the last part of this chapter. It strikes me as a bit OOC, but that might be my sleep deprivation talking. Anyway, this story won out in completing another chapter instead of my two Phantom stories. Which is...kind of sad, actually. Those two need love, I know, but this one is just so easy to write. Sigh. Well, now that I'm starting my thesis, I'll be writing a lot anyway, so hopefully I'll get around to doing some work on those as well. I would really, really like to get new chapters of those out sometime in September, so I'm going to try putting this on hold for a month and see if that works. Hopefully I won't automatically end up working on a new chapter, as sometimes happens.

I would also like some reviews on this chapter, given that its the first one in which Desdemona is having some semi-serious 'problems,' rather than things coasting along smoothly. Also, she's run into the inevitable 'brick wall' of research: you can only find out so much from books and paper resources. If you really want a 'full' picture, you've gotta go out and investigate...which she can't do for several years.

Read, Review, and for those of you who don't have tons of work? Enjoy it,

Peace Out - Slayer Anderson.


	9. Chapter 9

Slayer Anderson

In Bad Faith Chapter 9

Harry Potter Self-Insert

09/06/2013

* * *

Chapter IX – Friendship is Magic

* * *

My eighth birthday came and went.

The party was another exercise in frustration. I suppose I kept sane by interacting with the few individuals I called 'friends.' The Carrow twins were my shadows, at once diligently catering to my every whim and holding me in a certain state of awe due to a combination of my intelligence, maturity, and insight into 'adult' activities and motivations. The Black twins, Sagittarius and Virgo, had become the first real 'friends' I'd made on my own impetus. Tarry was a competent, if not particularly gifted chess player...much like myself; we'd played an enormous number of games, though he was leading by a small margin.

Virgo was...

My friendship with her...

Let me put it this way; I'd once wondered at the meaning of, 'getting along like a house on fire.'

Needless to say, I don't anymore.

Virgo and I liked to argue. We disagreed on everything from tea to music to art to favorite subjects in our respective tutoring. It actually amazed me that we hadn't come to blows over one thing or the other. Despite all that, though, we tended to be each other's staunchest defenders when faced with an external threat.

Like Draco.

"So what's this one do?" Virgo asked, her eyes intent on the shape taking form before her, even as she jarred me from my reminiscing.

"Its a runic levitation circle," I explained, my paintbrush flowing through the elegant curves. I wasn't quite good enough to free-hand the shapes yet, so my eyes and hand were tracing the thin ink sketch I'd crafted to mathematical perfection. "Pretty basic stuff, really."

"I think you're the only person I know who would call that 'pretty basic,'" Virgo sneered lightly.

"Well, pretty basic for me at least, but then again...we can't all be me, now, can we?" I smirked, keeping my gaze on the celtic knotwork.

"Why do you do that, anyway?" Virgo questioned curiously, ignoring my seeming arrogance.

I hummed lightly, replying to her query.

"That winding...stuff. I've seen pictures in those books of yours, none of the runes or the...bindings? None of what you do looks like looks like what's in the book." Virgo explained, her eyes darting awkwardly over to Tarry, Hestia, and Flora who were playing (or learning how to play in the case of the later two) Go Fish, with a set of muggle playing cards which had the various images on them enchanted to move.

Tarry was passing it off as a secret 'Italian' card game they'd learned from their mother. This served the double-purpose of explaining where the game came from and pressuring the Carrow twins to keep the muggle-designed cards and game from our parents.

I finished the final section of the outer ring and relaxed, leaning back in my chair and working out the kinks in my back before I answered. "Well...how the runes and the bindings look isn't really important...to a certain degree. They're...how did that book put it? 'Representations of magical anchoring sigils used to enact particular effects on the physical plane.'"

"And that means..." Virgo asked, rolling her eyes at the intricate technical terminology I preferred.

"What it looks like doesn't matter," I repeated heedlessly. "You're not supposed to copy the diagrams perfectly...at least, not if you really want to learn anything or create designs in the future. What's important is that you draw them to symbolize what you think of as 'strong,' if that makes any sense."

"And this is what you think of as 'strong,'" Virgo asked, her finger hovering over the curves of black paint. I trusted her not to actually touch the design, she knew that was one of the few things which could actually get me angry.

"The design is Celtic knotwork or braid work. Its what I think when someone says the word 'strong'...flexible, but powerful. A lot of people prefer solid lines, but I've always thought that made the shapes a bit too...brittle. Inflexible, but moderately more powerful." I explained.

Virgo shook her head, "I guess it doesn't hurt that it looks really brill."

I blinked, stumbling for a second on the word before I remembered the oddities of British slang. I was getting better at it, but British was still my second language, as opposed to American. "What does it looking good have to do with anything."

Virgo sneered again, her eyes reflecting good-natured mockery. "Like you don't know...who was it again that spent like three hours trying to get their robes to do that thing Mr. Snape's do?"

"Billow," I corrected quietly, my face heating at the reminder.

_Urg, I can't believe I couldn't get it right...I still wonder if it has more to do with your height or if there's some kind of charm or something on the fabric..._

"So?" I asked, irritated that the subject was being brought up.

"Do you have to look good doing _everything_?" Virgo pressed, half ridiculing and half curious.

"What's the point of doing something if you can't look good doing it?" I replied, crossing my arms. "If you want to be blinding, you've got to look badarse." The second my mouth closed, I regretted the sentence I had just spoken.

_Argh! British slang is infecting me! Get out of my head!_

"I still say you're nutters," Virgo shook her head, dropping back into her chair.

I decided not to argue on the topic. My sanity (or lack thereof) was a constant source of legitimate worry for me; after all, how many people have survived dieing, infancy, and the complete obliteration of everything they'd ever known without a few cracks in their brain pan? I'd eventually determined that, should I actually be insane, it was far too late to do anything about it and I should enjoy my unusual state of mind.

"Ouch!" Flora cried from her position on the floor, drawing Virgo and my attentions towards her. A hand of discarded playing cards lay on the ground, the seven year old clutching her finger as a tiny cut oozed blood slowly.

Tears welled in the younger girl's eyes even as her sister tried to comfort her.

I gave an imperceptible sigh as I picked up a small white case no bigger than a shoe box from it's resting place next to my nightstand. Stepping up to the injured twin I nestled the box between us and wrapped an arm around Flora, pulling her closer to me.

"Shush," I whispered lowly, meaningless and comforting soft noises coming from my mouth, examining the paper cut. She'd probably never handled the type of finely cut, mass-manufactured paper stock which playing cards were made of. The result was actually a fairly bad papercut, one which went all the way down her finger.

To a seven year old...especially one who only rarely skinned a knee or suffered from other childhood injuries, this was more than enough to cry over.

"Who's a brave girl?" I whispered massaging her arm as I slowly worked my way to the injury. Kids could be twitchy when they were hurt, especially if you just grabbed the part of their body that was hurt and tried to force medical attention on them.

Flora whimpered and I began to hum under my breath, some decades old lullaby that only my subconscious remembered. Even as my right hand tried to persuade Flora to let me see the injury, my left deftly began to pull a potion, salve, and bandage from my box.

In moments, the wound was cleaned with a potion, closed with a salve, and bound with bandages to heal. The whole ordeal had taken less than minute. To top off the incident, I wiped Flora's tears away with my handkerchief and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," Flora whispered, her voice tiny as she and Hestia looked over my patch-job and I put away the healer's kit.

"So that's what your mom gave you," Virgo said quietly, realization rather than curiosity in her words.

"Yeah. Mother is a Healer...or at least, she could be if she wanted to. She takes care of Draco and I when we're sick. She noticed that I was getting a lot of bruises...I told her it was just me being clumsy and tripping over books. She gave me a Healer's Kit, or at least a lot of salves and potions in case I ever got hurt and she was out. Mother's been teaching me how to use them," I explained, closing the box's lid with a 'snap' and looking up.

Virgo's eyes were...curious? Intrigued? Confused?

Something like that.

"What?" I asked.

"You'd make a good Healer," she said solemnly.

I smiled, though my expression was a bit bitter. "Maybe...but, I couldn't imagine doing that every day."

Virgo grunted, an ambiguous noise of understanding, even as I noticed Flora standing in front of me. I raised my eyes further, concerned, and looked at the girl's finger. "What's wrong Flora? Does it still hurt? The salve should have-"

And then I was hit with three stone of flying child.

I stiffened initially, then forced myself to relax. I couldn't quite help the reflexive response, having never been 'touchy-feely' in _either _of my lives. Still, I didn't want to offend the fragile girl, especially right now. Bending to the inevitable, I wrapped both hands around her and hugged, just as she was doing to me.

_Warm..._

Something in me relaxed, like a tightly coiled spring finally releasing tension. Even as I felt Hestia silently join in the hug, I wondered at the...contentment that had suddenly consumed me. There was an abstract sense that this might be related to my childhood body affecting my adult mind, but...I couldn't bring myself to care. By chance, my eyes flickered open and saw Tarry and Virgo sitting on the fringes, envy plain on their faces. I sighed...

_In for a penny...in for a pound._

"If you two don't get over here right now and help, I'm giving you clothes for your next birthday," I threatened.

Their eyes widened. They knew, even from our relatively short association as friends, that I was vindictive enough to remember that grudge. As they made to pull Flora and Hestia off me, I whispered something into the Carrow twin's ears and shared a dark grin with them. I can't be quite sure what happened next, but the end result was the same.

Five children nearly rolling on the floor in a groups hug, giggling...well, childishly.

It was inevitable that the tickling began.

Some indeterminable amount of time later, a voice rang out even as we all took heaving breaths, flushed and still snickering with subdued laughter.

"What are you all _doing?!_"

My brother, Draco, stood in the doorway.

I was the first to come to my sense enough to give a coherent response, "Its called having fun, Dray-Dray, heard of it?"

Draco colored at the name, "Don't call me that! Besides, you're not acting like a Malfoy! When Father hears of this-"

_Good sweet Merlin, this child has a stick up his arse._

"-but Father's not going to find out," I warned, sitting up on my elbows. "Because if he did, I might have to tell him who _really _broke the greenhouse window last week after you blamed it on a gnome."

_Honestly, why Mother doesn't just enchant the glass to be unbreakable, I'll never know. Wizards and common sense are like oil and water..._

Of course, I only knew because Draco had done so on his broom and, subsequently, received a few fairly bad cuts. He had come to me, amazingly enough, in favor of avoiding punishment by Mother or Father and I had, ironically enough, used the Healer's Kit Mother had given me to tend to injuries primarily inflicted by my brother.

The combination of pale fear and red anger on Draco's face wasn't appealing.

"Fine," Draco growled, huffing. "I was just coming to see if you wanted to practice our duet pieces for tomorrow, but if you're too busy..."

I sighed, then nodded. "Fine, just let me get my violin. You all may stay in my room while Draco and I adjourn to the West Wing Garden Gazebo to-"

"-we'll come along," Hestia burst in, interrupting me rather rudely. I repressed the urge to chastise her in favor of a light flush of embarrassment.

"That's not necessary-" I began, though I was interrupted again.

"-as a gracious host, of course it is," Draco overruled me snidely. "A Malfoy would never be so gauche as to leave his guests without due entertainment. Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott will be my guests as well, at any rate, so it would only be fair."

The ponce had the gall to smile at me, dark amusement at my stage fright bright in his eyes.

"Of course, Dear Brother," I replied coolly, retribution promised silently in reply.

In short order, Draco and I had taken our places outside, the summer sun already setting for a cooler afternoon. I had to admit, this was one of the 'perks' of my new life. Having been born at a much lower latitude last time, summer was almost appallingly hot and humid. British summers, by contrast, were positively chill.

As I stepped onto the Gazebo and Draco positioned himself on the Piano, I took a moment to appraise myself in one of the many tall mirrors inset into the supports of the Gazebo. Strategically placed, they blended the 'inside' with the 'outside' of the structure, creating the illusion of a much larger space which seamlessly flowed into the outdoors.

The girl reflected in the mirror was thin and lithe, even moreso than a normal eight year old. Though I ate my fill at each meal, I was beginning to suspect I'd inherited a body structure which could only be described as 'willowy.' My eyes were somewhere between steel gray and silver, depending on how the light caught them, while my hair shone either platinum blond or white gold under different conditions. The cascade of pale hair was now down to just beyond my shoulder blades...once it got a bit longer I'd consider braiding it.

My face was what polite society would call 'austere' and a low-class individual might describe as 'pinched.' I was wearing one of my favorite sets of robes, black trimmed in white, with a long skirt which interchanged the colors. My blouse contained both white and black in equal proportions, tracing a snowflake pattern which danced over the silken fabric.

I tried not to think of how many old biddies would insist on praising me as 'cute' on the marrow.

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

The pieces we had picked out had taken nearly a month of compromise.

Draco had wanted only classical pieces, according to his rather brass taste. I had wanted more modern music, faster paced and flecked with jazzy beats. At Narcissa's threat of picking the music _for us_ if we could not agree, the argument had been settled by a mixed set of classical and modern. Negotiations had been fierce, but in the end we had come up with a list that satisfied both of us...or, at least stopped another prank war from breaking out in Malfoy Manor. Sadly, and much to Draco's amusement, Mother had overruled several of my choices as not befitting of the tone of the party. The final list ended up looking like this:

Selections of Tchiakovsky's "1812 Overture," Wagner's "Die Meistersinger," Von Suppe's "Light Cavalry."

Although many of the pieces weren't really made for a duet of our instruments, or had supplemental instruments necessary, I think our renditions worked well enough. I even managed to sneak in a copy of "The Piano Man," which amused me to no end after it got a standing ovation.

Music was a cultural oddity in the Wizarding World. Although it tended towards the conservative, I think there were enough influential people with more progressive tastes (at least secretly), that there was always one or two stations on the Wizarding Wireless playing more modern pieces. I'd yet to find anything like the Weird Sisters from the Goblet of Fire movie, but I retained hope that Wizarding Rock was a recent occurrence. Still, the fact that no one really bothered repressing the various musical trends meant that it was probably the most 'muggleborn-friendly' aspect of our culture.

I still wondered if it was possible to modify a Wizarding Wireless to pick up muggle radio.

As the last note of our last piece rang out, Draco and I exchanged...well, not quite smiles, but...neutral expressions of appreciation that our ordeal was over? Somewhere between relief and respect, certainly.

"You were both absolutely magnificent," Narcissa gushed, while Lucius eyed us approvingly from where he was involved in a conversation with Minister Fudge and-shiver-The Thing In Pink.

_Well, can't go over there right now...hmm, I wonder what's in the opposite direction?_

Marvel of marvels, the opposite direction turned out to hold the aged and withered Walburga Black, making her first societal appearance in nearly a decade. Her skin was as sallow and wizened as it had been when last I saw her, almost a month prior. Now, she was reclining on a chaise lounge, which had been moved underneath a large and complicated umbrella, blocking the sun from where it stood at the height of its daily journey.

The old woman looked as I would imagine a Buddha did underneath a pagoda.

A throng of visitors was slowly congregating now that our performance had finished, all of them looking much like supplicants waiting to bow before their aged goddess. As I waded through the crowd, allowing the compliments and greetings to flow over me, I was consumed by relief that my part in the entertainment was over.

It had been _hard _to get up in front of so many people and play.

In the end, I had closed my eyes and allowed the memorized motions of the music to take control of my hands. My fingers knew where they needed to be. My hand knew where the bow needed to be. The problem was the eyes on me. The entire affair had seemed to pass in one long blink of the eyes, finishing when I opened my eyes again at last.

Walburga's dark eyes caught my own as she extended a weak hand, beckoning me forward.

I bypassed the line of purebloods and wanna' bes, showing the proper disdain to the mass as I approached the older woman.

"Lady Walburga," I bowed, not quite as deeply as last time, though still quite low. "You honor our house with your presence today, though I must express concern for your health. Are you sure it is best for you to be out in this hot weather."

The woman gave me a cold smile, "Such concern, Desdemona...and I had thought I told you to call me Aunt Walburga? Nevertheless, I thought I might get out one last time before I pass."

The group around us gave up a faux-plead of denial and disagreement, trying to assure the woman that she had years and years yet to live. I looked her over once again, noticing that even what little sun she was getting showed her to be in more ill health than I had first thought. Rather than the healthy flush most people showed, her skin was even paler and more callow by contrast.

I swallowed the lump of sadness in my throat.

Walburga might not have been a great person...or even a good one, really, but she was family and she was dieing...and she knew it. I saw no reason to not acknowledge the fact if she already had as well, especially when it was plainly apparent.

"Did Draco and I do well enough for such an honor as the Lady Black's last social appointment?" I asked, thickly. Despite the fact that I had tried to swallow my sorrow, I hadn't quite succeeded.

There was something in Walburga's eyes as I spoke, something impossible for me to define or explain, but I had the feeling it was important.

"More than enough, child," Lady Black whispered. "Why, it reminded me of when Orion, my husband, and I would go to those lovely little outdoor concerts. It was such a gay old time, back then...but listen to me ramble, you probably aren't interested in hearing about this."

"I..." Here I hesitated, wondering best how to ask her to continue, because I _was _interested, but I also didn't want to look like a sycophant. "I don't suppose they played anything of a more modern bent? Draco adores the classical, but I tend towards the recent occurrences in music."

"I'm afraid not, child," Walburga chuckled lowly. "I think the most 'modern' thing I ever heard was...Moonlight Sonata, actually. That was the night Orion proposed to me...a concert under the stars. It was so beautiful..." Her gaze was distant, more focused on the past than on me.

I picked up my violin case from where it lay by my side.

Moonlight Sonata was one of the pieces I had tried to compromise with Draco on, but he'd felt it didn't have enough 'umph.' It wasn't loud or brass enough for his taste, but I'd discovered that it was quite soothing to play, a 'cool down,' if you will after the work out of the harder pieces.

My bow slid across the strings easily, heedless of onlookers as I started in on the piece.

The melody was easy, a beautiful and sweet piece that I enjoyed playing and listening to, something that was just difficult enough to require my attention. The true difficulty was...well, the French call it je ne sais quois. It was a quality of the music that needed something more than mere skill or ability for it to sound proper.

It needed heart.

It needed soul.

It needed pain.

It was...a terribly sad piece, now that I thought about it...on this occasion, I think I was able to do it justice like never before.

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

Winter in the Malfoy Manor was my favorite time of the year.

Not Christmas, mind you, just winter. It was a beautiful season, the entirety of the estate covered in pristine white down. Although so many people thought England and the greater part of Britain (which were _not _the same thing) were large cities, it simply wasn't true. Malfoy Manor was in the countryside, geographically fairly close to Stonehenge and possessed large tracts of land on every side, insulating it from the various muggle properties which surrounded it.

But none of that mattered, really.

Snow had been a rare and infrequent fluke in my past. In the present day, though, with warming charms and other applications of magic, snow was even more wondrous than it had been before.

_If only I could find an excuse to go skiing...ah well, can't be helped._

I've said it before and I'll probably say it again, but magic is amazing.

As the Winter Solstice approached, both Mother and Father began spending more time at home, enjoying the winding down of the holiday season. Even the Ministry, notorious for drowning its employees in bureaucracy, did less and less work during the month of December. As a result, it was a time Draco and I treasured. Even our still-frequent combative behavior took a backseat to the enjoyment of the winter season.

The stillness of the Malfoy estate was rapturous that particularly bright winter morning. It was treacherously cold, though I only felt a bit of the nip as I walked about the grounds, a fur-lined hat pulled low to block out as much sun as possible. It was a beautiful, crystalline moment that stood, flawlessly silent for a timeless eon-

-and then a snowball struck the back of my head.

Toppling asre over elbow, I found myself facedown in the snow before I knew it. Pushing myself out of the powder, I turned my head to see Draco standing a dozen feet away, arms crossed, and giving me the most superior smirk I'd ever seen violate his face. Standing, I affected a detached expression when, truly, it was all I could do to keep from grinning madly.

"You realize, of course," I intoned grimly, "That this means war."

Draco blinked, unused to that manner of response from me as I used the lull to scoop up a handful of snow and compact it in one easy motion. Although I had never been practiced at making snowballs, I managed well enough and aimed for the central mass of Draco's body.

Although the impact caught him off-guard, it was not enough to actually topple him.

What began that day as a childish bout of mock-violence transcended our ages into an epic battle of wills that would resound through the eons. In truth, it was one of those 'pure' childhood moments I'd recalled from idyllic sitcoms and Norman Rockwell paintings and thought wholly fictional. There was nothing mean-spirited or foul-tempered about that day, none of our usual vitriol infected our actions. For all that Draco and I could be at each other's throats, it was moments like these that showed me the brighter, happier side of my sibling.

Lucius and Narcissa watched us from their positions on the veranda, a large pitcher of some steaming liquid between them. They poured us each a cup as we came in from the snow, now filled with furrows and mounds created by our childish antics.

The deep, rich cocoa was vastly enjoyable, as Mother's warming charms had begun to dim and the cold had started to seep into our fingers and toes.

Father, always the more enigmatic of our parents, removed his wand and began to see to the melting snow and chilled extremities, his face more expressively gentle than I'd seen in a long while.

As we finished our drinks, he stood, sparing our Mother a pleased glance before turning to us.

"Draco, Desdemona, come along now, I think its time to impart a few important lessons," Lucius intoned, a small smile playing on his lips.

It said something about the rarity of the occasion that neither I nor my brother argued about the other accompanying us and, instead, fell into line. Walking out into the winter scenery, Father angled towards a large field which had been left untouched by our playing and began fluid motions with his wand. My eyes, as well as Draco's I'm sure, widened as the snow shifted and formed up into pillars, climbing seemingly of its own accord.

"Do you know what sets us apart from the muggles, children?" Lucius asked softly as the snow continued to mount, some structure beginning to take shape.

I don't think Draco nor I could have answered him, even if we had wanted to, the spectacle had thoroughly entranced us.

_Magic...is amazing._

"We, those of us from established magical families and bloodlines, stretching back centuries, have an obligation. The French had the right of it when they called it _Noblesse Oblige_; Desdemona, am I correct that you have heard of such in your readings?"

I found my voice at the direct address, and nodded. "Yes, Father. I believe...'It is the obligation of Nobility to conduct themselves as befits their station, both amongst peers, and those of lower standing.'"

Lucius smiled, and I ducked my head, hiding my own pleased smiled and flushed cheeks.

"Draco...we have talked about this subject in depth, I believe. What are the responsibilities of those of our station?" Lucius prompted, turning to my brother.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Draco stiffening to attention before he spoke, carefully. "It is the burden of the ruling class to maintain the order of society, both lawfully and culturally. We maintain the government, magic itself, and secrecy from the unwashed muggle horde."

Lucius smiled again, definitely pleased.

"And in return for our governance," Father spoke softly, his attention still partly on his wandwork, "we ensure the health, safety, and prosperity of those we govern. Never forget that even those misguided blood-traitors should be counted among our flock. We are the guardians of the magical world, even to those who do not see us as such. We are the foundation upon which our world stands on."

As he finished, Draco and I gasped. The intricate movements of his wand had crafted a castle of ice and snow, more than twenty feet tall. I felt my jaw hang open and had to remind myself of how uncouth it was to look so unconcerned with my appearance.

"As the bulwark of defense for our world, we must be wary of those who come into our world from their humble and squalid origins," Lucius warned us, his eyes intent. "They are simple children, unaware of how our world works, and it is our duty to educate them, show them the light, and make them productive members of Wizarding Society."

Draco and I both nodded on cue, unable to do otherwise as we stared at the enormous structure.

My eyes unfocused, a fragment of an epic poem emerged from the darkened recesses of my mind. I'd memorized it during college, though I'd come across a copy in the Malfoy Libraries mere weeks ago. Nostalgia had consumed me as I flipped through the yellowed pages. My mouth opened of its own will and the words tumbled out.

"'Tis ours, the dignity they give to grace

The first in valour, as the first in place;

That when with wondering eyes our confidential bands

Behold our deeds transcending our commands,

Such, they may cry, deserve the sovereign state,

Whom those that envy dare not imitate!"

My head ducked, the creeping tinge of embarrassment thankfully camouflaged by my childishly flushed cheeks, as Draco turned wide eyes on me. Father's eyes were alight with an impossible mixture of approval, curiosity, intrigue, and wonder.

"Well recited, daughter," Lucius smiled, raising an eyebrow. "And from what work do you quote such a sagacious and pertinent passage?"

I licked my lips before swallowing and raising my voice just above a whisper. "The Greek Bard Homer, Father...the passage is from the King of Lyrica spoken to his friend."

The actual content of the copy I'd found of the Illiad I'd found had surprised me, though. It had been notated and scribbled in by someone using an older form of Middle English, speculating on the exact magics worked on the individuals in the work and the tales of 'divine magic' used by the gods and goddess during ancient times.

I'd dug around the same area and found another book, handwritten and more like a journal than a traditional text, full of salient points and references about Homer's works. It had ended with the conclusion that the epic poems of the Iliad and Odyssey represented true, factual, history.

I'd taken the books to my personal study and still pondered over whether or not to believe them.

I shook myself as Father gave us permission to play in the ice 'miniature' ice castle he'd crafted, while he retired on the veranda with Mother. I, myself, moved to stand on the 'tower' of the castle, looking out over the wooded forest to our lands' South.

I wondered at Father's words.

Did I believe them?

Did I want to believe them?

I met my eyes in the distorted reflection of the ice castle's walls, watching as the mirror-like substance twisted and deformed in strange whorls and warped surfaces.

_Who am I?_

It wasn't the first time I'd had the thought, but it was the most poignant. I felt at war with myself, a strange sensation that threatened to tear my mind and soul apart at the seams. Because...

If I was honest with myself?

_I want to believe Lucius...Father. I want to believe that I...that the world had an 'order' to it and wasn't just the chaotic floundering of man against man which was so common in history. I want to believe that there is a 'right' way for things to be._

It was an insidious thought, pleasantly cloaked in sweet, enthralling words.

I sighed and tried to put my mind at ease.

It didn't work.

_Are these my Father's words? Or Tom Riddle's? The war, in this world...was bad, terrible even...but can I say the Death Eaters were evil? If they thought they were defending their way of life against a cultural war?_

_ Voldemort...did so much damage. He destroyed so much of the truth. I don't think anyone even cares what the 'truth' is anymore...just that their loved ones died and nothing will make it better again._

I swallowed.

This was what Noblesse Oblige really meant.

I had grown up in the lap of luxury, clothed in silks and given the best education. If I turned my back on the coming conflict...I would be dishonoring my heritage. If I tried to stop the fires of war, though...I'd be, however indirectly, upholding an ideology I wasn't sure I approved of.

I also had an obligation, not just as a 'noble,' but as a person...

I was so preoccupied that I almost missed Draco coming to sit next to me. He was quiet, for a change, as he watched me. The moment of silent camaraderie was quick to end, though, as my brother finally worked up the courage to ask what he'd sought me out for.

"What...what was that?" Draco asked tentatively. I didn't need to ask what he meant.

I tried to shrug, but gave it up for lack of practice in the motion. "Something I read...really wordy. You probably...I don't know if you'd like it."

Draco looked about to retort, to throw some angry comment back in my face, but he swallowed the impulse with visible difficulty.

I was impressed.

"Father liked it." Draco said quietly.

I nodded, hesitantly, not making eye contact, but agreeing with his assessment. "It was written a long time ago...someone wrote that they thought Wizards and Witches were part of royalty and nobility back then...even among the muggles. The King who said those words, was said to have divine or magical lineage."

"But what does it mean?" Draco asked persistently. "Father looked proud of you when you said it."

I grimaced. "It means that...if you live well, are honored by those who live on your lands, and hold lofty position in society...you are obligated to be chivalrous and valorous in defense of those people. You're supposed to be so brave, and good, and smart, that even people jealous of your station have to admit you deserve it, because they can't do what you do."

"Oh," Draco nodded, his face setting grimly as if coming to some decision. "Teach it to me."

My cheek twitched, partly in amusement and partly in irritation. I turned to my brother and raised an eyebrow.

The silence stretched.

"Please?" Draco finally asked, looking pained as he spoke.

I smiled and opened my mouth, then paused.

_Noblesse Oblige...is not only to those 'below' you, its also to those who need you. The debt you owe society for your privileged upbringing should be paid forward._

I decided to start where I would make the most impact.

Draco hung on my every word.

* * *

...and I should be working on my thesis.

Ugh, this fic just won't stop. I mean, I like writing it, but I have other things to do! Anyway, I hope this latest chapter goes over well. Next one (which won't be for a while, if I have my way) will be a doozy. I originally had decided for another Draco/Dezzy fight scene, but then...well, I have sibling and, even if they're hard to get along with _sometimes_, there are also moments where we really 'click.' I realized that, before Hogwarts, these two needed at least ONE moment like that. And there it is.

Ah, yes, and Walburga Black is going to die soon, for those of you who want her to stop infringing on your enjoyment of the story. Hmm...and there are probably some people asking about Hogwarts. At this rate...I'd say Chapter 13 at the earliest, Chapter 15 at the latest. I'd, personally, go with Chapter 15...

See you later, Space Wizard,

Slayer Anderson

P.S. - This story runs on reviews, put some gas in the engine!


	10. Chapter 10

Slayer Anderson

In Bad Faith Chapter 10

Harry Potter Self-Insert Fanfiction

09/10/2013

* * *

Chapter X – Death & Taxes

* * *

My ninth birthday passed without overdue fanfare.

A week later, Walburga Black died of heart failure.

The funeral was the following week.

Afterwards, I decided to go home with Virgo, Sagittarius, and...Regulus. The twins and their father were...shattered, in a way that nearly broke me. Narcissa had offered to help, but Regulus had gently rebuffed her. I'd come to keep his children company, deliberately avoiding mentioning comforting the father of the family. Regulus, although he looked a bit older and worn, was still a very young father, and a young man.

It wasn't pity, but I didn't want it to look like that, either.

Virgo and Tarry were...children. I think on some level, they understood that their grandmother had died, but it had yet to really sink in. They'd paid their respects, but I'd seen that Walburga was a distant figure in their lives.

Regulus had taken it much harder.

He'd lost his _mother_.

I ushered the twins off to bed, seeing to them in leu of their father, who had dropped into a chair in the kitchen, listlessly staring into the distance. I sighed as I pulled Tarry's sheets up, tucking him in with a hug.

"Is Dad going to be okay?" The boy asked, his voice small.

I bit my lip...

_Why me? Merlin, I'm not good at this. I'm not a people person, I don't like emotions, I'd rather just ignore this mess...but Regulus isn't in any state and there isn't anyone else, is there? No one else offered to come see to the twins, no one else cared to see if their old man was in bad enough shape to do something stupid...damn it._

"I think so," I answered eventually. "Just make sure you hug him a lot, he needs it."

"Okay," Tarry nodded, rolling over and going to sleep.

I smiled in the dark, Tarry was...not simple, exactly, but still very much a child. He wasn't a font of deep and complex thoughts, but rather a bastion of an uncomplicated world. I envied him sometimes.

"You don't need to tuck me in," Virgo said, sliding into her own bed on the other side of the room.

"I know," I nodded, deliberately not smiling.

She didn't protest as I pulled her sheets up, brushing her long brown hair out of her eyes, which I saw glistening in the dim light. Pulling my handkerchief out, I dabbed at her eyes. "Sorry, you've got a little smudge."

She sniffled.

"I didn't really like her," Virgo whispered.

I swallowed, "That's fine. Aunt Walburga was...there was something mean in her heart, something that didn't like love or happiness."

Virgo was silent a moment, absorbing what I had said. I didn't want to venture a guess as to what was going through the other girl's mind, but...neither Virgo nor Tarry liked the world of pureblood society. It was a world they didn't quite understand, because they'd spent their formative years in the muggle world. They needed to understand that there wasn't anything wrong with that fact, but...the masks they wore in pureblood company would always be just that, masks.

To a child that grew up in a rigorously pureblood household, like myself, it wasn't a mask.

At least, not entirely.

"Then why does it hurt?" Virgo asked plaintively, her voice uncharacteristically weak.

"Because...even if she was mean, and never gave you a reason to love her...she was still someone important. A member of your family. You don't have to like someone to love them," I explained, the admission taking something out of me.

"Thanks," Virgo said quietly.

"I'm family," I said, standing to leave. "Family means never having to say 'thank you.'"

The day had worn me raw and tired and the quiet loneliness of the hallway was soothing. It had not been pleasant, attending Aunt Walburga's funeral...I knew that it wasn't supposed to be 'fun' of course, but the entire affair had pulled up things that I'd rather have been left forgotten.

"Merlin be damned," I hissed, clenching my eyes shut.

_I won't cry. I won't. It doesn't help. Crying is weakness and I can't be weak...my friends need me. Regulus needs me. I can't break down now._

Taking a deep breath, I stilled my mind and focused.

_There is fury, but within, peace._

_ There is weakness, but within, strength._

_ There is wrath, but within, grace._

_ There is a storm, but within, stillness._

I had accepted that it was likely, almost certain, that I would never see my friends or family again. Even if I did, they wouldn't be _my _family. My death had been one of the most difficult realities of my new life to come to terms with, but I had had little else to do in my infantile years. Still, despite all that, whenever I though back to the world I'd once lived in...it didn't feel as though I was the one who'd died.

It felt as though the rest of my world had.

I tried to shake the ominous cloud hanging over me as I made my way down the stairs for a late cuppa, intent on using the excuse to check on Regulus, who had become something between an uncle and a cousin to me. It was difficult to pin down our exact 'relationship' when I had _technically _accrued more life experience than he had, though he was 'older' than I was supposed to be.

_How do you know when you've gone native? When you _crave _tea every few hours..._

Of course, what the British drank wasn't 'tea' by American standards, which I usually judged by the hallmark of iced tea, a constant staple of the 'land of cotton.' I hadn't even been a big tea drinker in the past, but...

Well, now I couldn't get enough of the stuff.

Thoughts of why exactly Wizarding Britain had developed the same cliché British obsession with tea spiraled into memories of the Empire and Indian colonization, twisting into a hypothesis that I could test by looking into the treatise on-

My brain stalled as I entered the kitchen.

Regulus, his expression despondent, was staring at a still-sealed bottle of Odgen's Finest Firewhiskey and a single shot glass.

"Lord Black," I began, respectfully. No matter how much I wished, I wasn't in a position of authority here. Regulus could drink himself into a stupor if he really wanted...my friends were still children...enough that they trusted my mature attitude and ability to control a situation. Among my peers, I was an intelligent, insightful, and socially powerful young witch.

In front of the Lord of an Ancient and Noble House, even if he was merely an 'acting' one, I was nothing more than a precocious child.

"Don't call me that," Regulus snapped, his voice bitter.

I waited for further reprimand, but none came; against my better judgment, I decided to try again.

"Though your brother is the rightful claimant," I began, "He is currently indisposed, leaving you as the Acting Lord and Heir Apparent of House Black, _Lord Regulus_." My tone was as empty as possible, but I was desperately trying to remind him that he needed to conduct himself as befit his station, not as a drunken lout.

Instead, his bloodshot eyes fixed me with a stare of disbelief and incredulity.

My mouth thinned as I realized how galling it probably was to listen to a child speak like this to you, but continued. "Further, Mother asked me to make sure you awoke in time for the reading of Lady Walburga's last will and testament tomorrow. The Goblins will not take it kindly if you are late."

His expression hadn't changed one iota.

Then, his mouth twitched.

And again.

Slowly, but surely Regulus began a descent into maddened laughter and I thanked whoever had been thoughtful enough to put up silencing charms on the twin's room. Likely, it had been Regulus himself, so that the myriad and, no doubt angry, conversations he had had with his mother would go unheard by his children. I doubt he had foreseen this particular eventuality, though.

As the insane cackling subsided, I stood rooted to my spot, eying the knife drawer in case the older man had unhinged himself. Given Bellatrix's madness and the possibility that Regulus had now gone insane and Sirius might be...

_I probably needed a shrink anyway, given everything in my life. What's a few psychoses to tag on the list?_

"They-" Regulus gasped, breathless on the floor as he stared up at me with wide eyes, "They haven't _told you_?! Oh, Cissy, that's rich! Let the girl stay here for the night without even telling her! Oh, Cor Blimey! Do you really hate me this much, cousin?" As he asked the last, his eyes went skyward.

The silence which descended was deafening.

"...pardon?" I asked, blinking vacuously.

Regulus stared at me from where he had collapsed on the floor. "You honestly don't know?" I could tell some sense had come back to him, the question was clearly directed towards me. Regardless, though, I found the entire situation irritating and confusing. Narrowing my wide gaze, I crossed my arms and stared down the adult.

I was genuinely angry for the first time in a long time.

And when I got angry? I got stupid.

"Well it depends on what, specifically, I don't know," I explained coolly, an honest chill in my words which belied the heat in my eyes. "I mean, I obviously know, that I don't know whatever it is that this particular conversation is covering, because I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about. However, if you're asking about that which I don't know, that I don't know about? Well, I'm afraid you're out of luck, because all I know is that I don't know, that I don't know, which in terms of absolute knowledge is actual fairly useless."

I also got _really snarky_.

Regulus blinked, staring at me with such profound confusion, I almost decided to take pity on him.

Almost.

"If you're speaking in a more general sense, though, I'm sure there are a great number of things which I know that I don't know. There are also probably some things which I don't know, that I know. The problem with general knowledge, as I'm sure you'll find, is there there is a great deal of unknown unknown knowledge. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

An expression which I termed 'mental nausea,' which looked about as complimentary as it sounded had perched itself on the older man's face. Visibly shaking himself, Regulus gave me a bizarre look before pressing his palms into his eyes and groaning. "Please...don't do that again. Desdemona, why don't you just take the guest room for the night? I have business to attend to."

I swallowed, caught between the ingrained response of two lifetimes that compelled me to agree to a reasonable request from my elder, and the desire not to see a man drink himself into oblivion for a reason I couldn't understand. "Uncle Regulus," I decided, using the more familiar term in favor of not upsetting the man. "I'm sorry for my inappropriate and short-tempered response, but I would honestly like to help if the situation was properly explained to me."

Regulus gave a dark chuckle, dropping his hands from his face to give me another tired bloodshot stare. The silence hung heavy for a long moment before the wizard, still laying on the floor, shook his head.

"I suppose it says something that I'm actually considering it? Did you know that you're the closest thing I think I have to a friend? Isn't that just pathetic? That the only person I can actually talk to about anything that matters is my children's eight year old friend?" Regulus choked bitterly. "There are a dozen family heads that might lend me an ear, your father among them,who'd just love to ruin my life. Your mother would have the whole of Britain talking about it, just as soon as her mouth could gossip it, and all of the people I knew back in Hogwarts are either dead, in Azkaban, or vanished without a trace."

My heart twisted in empathy.

I knew what that position was like; to have so much that you could never tell anyone, that had to be held close and secret because there was no one who would, no one who could _ever_, understand. I opened my mouth, to say what I can't be sure, but Regulus chose that moment to continue.

"I mean, what would you care that my mother just died? That Virgo and Sagittarius' mother probably won't last the year out? That I've been disinherited because I won't turn out my children on the street? That my entire life is circling the drain? You're _nine years old_...and you're Cissy's kid to top it all off; I don't know how she taught you to pretend to care so well, she could never pull it off, but just leave me alone...I have enough to worry about without listening to a kid less than a third of my age gloat about being the next Lady Black."

I felt my head spin and reached out for the wall in vain as I toppled gently to the floor.

_I'm gonna...be..._

_ Whut._

My mouth opened...closed...opened again...an unflattering gargle of a noise ground out of my throat.

My mind was spiraling out of control, a million thoughts flashing by in indistinct blurs as I tried to grapple with the inconceivable notion which had been presented to me. My Occlumency failed me utterly, my carefully ordered mind collapsing into a cacophonous den. Beyond rational thought for the moment, I had a vision of the world crumbling around me.

This was...insane.

Bad, very very bad.

Insanely bad, even.

A deranged giggle erupted from somewhere, a moment passing before I realized it was my own mouth. This was so _fucking bad_! I hadn't damaged the timeline so much, yet, but this was _big_! The Black family represented quite a lot of political capital that had lain dormant during the years after Walburga Black had died. If I was the rightful inheritor of the station...

Lucius, Father, would never let that kind of power languish.

Granted, I knew little enough about the Wizengamot as it currently stood, and Ministry politics in general, but what were the odds that Dumbledore's faction would defeat a law or bill by such a narrow margin that the Black vote or favor might make a difference?

If a law or statute or whatever got passed which hadn't been passed in canon...

_Domino effect, Butterfly effect, Rube Goldberg Machine, whatever you want to call it! Agh! Why me?! Why do you give an _nine year old_ this kind of political power!?_

My twitching gaze flow upwards from where Regulus lay on the floor to the table and the object which rested on it.

I was suddenly feeling thirsty.

_No._

It had been over a decade since I'd had any alcohol, actually.

_This is a terrible idea!_

Well, beyond Mother and Father granted Draco and myself the occasional glass of watered-down wine.

_This is, literally, the Worst Idea I've Ever Had!_

I had wondered, on occasion, what Fire Whiskey was like. Mother and Father never kept any in the house, at least that I could find, because it wasn't a refined drink. And anyway, I wasn't stupid enough to try such a potentially potent booze so young.

_I always did enjoy proving myself wrong..._

Besides, there was no conceivable way to get Regulus back upstairs and into bed under the power of my eight-year-old muscles. I should stay and keep him company...make sure he's safe, right?

_I hope it's not as bad as straight vodka, that shite was pretty rough, if I remember right._

And...I was lonely.

The temptation to speak about...me was heavy. Could I trust Regulus? He was, technically family, after all. He was really the closest thing I had to an adult 'friend.' Sure, Snape was _friendly_ (in his own not-friendly way), but he was also an authority figure who didn't approve of anything dangerous or unusual (by the Wizarding definition, not the muggle). Godfather had learned early in life to keep his head down, and didn't want me to make a mistake to the contrary.

I snatched the Fire Whiskey off the table.

Regulus looked at me askance as I grabbed the corkscrew and began the task of opening the bottle. "What in Merlin's name are you doing, girl?"

"If you're going to get drunk, I'm not going to let you do it alone." I spat, wrenching the cork free with a final gasp.

"...Cissy is going to kill me if I let you take a single sip of that stuff," Regulus argued, standing and moving to take the open bottle from me.

To fast for him to follow, I danced around the small kitchen table before taking a shot straight from the bottle and slamming the bottle back onto the table.

_Well...that's why they call it _Fire _Whiskey!_

I exhaled a plume of alcoholic smog from my mouth even as the curious sensation of burning gas shot forth from my ears. My eyes bulged as liquid fire shot down my throat before dropping heavily into my gut. I gasped, drawing in a huge gust of air as unshed tears sprang out the corner of my eyes, though I refused to let them fall.

"Fuck," I hissed, breathing harshly. "That shite is worse than rotgut moonshine! What do you cut it with, glass!?"

Regulus' jaw was nearly unhinging itself, working soundlessly at me.

"What?" I asked, rudely, forcing the question out despite the flush of embarrassment in my cheeks. A single child-sized mouthful of alcohol on a full stomach hadn't done much for me, but I'd need to be careful with how much I drank. When my cheeks started heating from anything other than self-consciousness, then I'd be in trouble.

"I-" Regulus tried, blinking and shaking his head, as if struck by vertigo. "What just-why did...that's _Fire Whiskey _you stupid girl! You can't just gulp it down like Butterbeer!"

"Yeah," I nodded, intentionally and deliberately rolling my eyes at Regulus. "We're going to need something to cut it with. Have you got any...juice or something? Fruit wouldn't be bad either."

"Give me that!" Regulus shouted, grabbing the nearly-full bottle and holding it close, looking at me with wide and wary eyes. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?! You can't just-you're _nine!_"

I waited for Regulus to make a salient point, my eyebrow arching.

I took his long silence and expectant expression as my cue to respond. "Yes, I'm nine. I'm also the closest thing you evidently have as a friend, Uncle Regulus, so if you're going to drown your sorrows in a bottle, I'm obligated to help you. Besides, it's good to let your hair down every now and then."

Regulus' eyes narrowed. "Look, if you're trying to make fun of me-"

"I'm not," I interrupted, forcing myself to break habits and speak out. "You're a good person who needs someone to listen to them. Personally? I wouldn't elect myself for the honor, but...well, someone has to."

I shrugged, feeling muscle groups protest at the movement.

Regulus palmed his face, sweeping his hand back through his hair, "Desdemona...I don't know what you're trying to do, but you're not an adult. This isn't you job...just go up to the guest room and I'll pretend this never happened, okay?"

I fixed him with a glare, halting his progress towards me even as he prepared himself to escort me to my room for the night. An uneasy nervousness welled up within me, but I fought it. "No."

"Then I'll have to explain to your mother about this," he said, gesturing to the bottle with a stern look in his eyes.

"And how you allowed me to have some, due to your own inattention," I replied instantaneously. "Or you could sit down and talk to me. Tell me what's bothering you. If you need me to be your friend, then I will be."

Regulus colored at my accusatory gall, what was essentially blackmail. "Child, I don't know what's gotten into you, but if you think for one moment you can understand what it's like to lose-"

"-everything you've ever known," I said stonily, trying to rebuild my Occlumency, trying to shut out the _feeling_ that threatened to overwhelm me as I spoke the words I'd never allowed myself to. "To wake up one day and realize that the world you lived in has changed forever, left you behind. To look for a friendly face, only to find they've died or faded away. For there to be _no one_, _nothing_ familiar and comforting, to share your pain with." I locked eyes with him, my saddened steel gray meeting his shocked silver. "Still think I don't know what it feels like, Reggie?"

He reacted to the name as if physically struck, falling onto his backside.

He swallowed, apparently unable to look away from me as our gazes remained locked.

"_Who are-What are you!?_" Regulus asked, his voice numb.

So great was his shock, he didn't stop me as I leveraged the Fire Whiskey bottle from him and poured him a glass, handing over the libation before answering him. "Why don't we...leave that for another time? I think you've freaked out enough for tonight. That's actually a good thing to talk about, really. Why are you acting so...weird, anyway?"

Regulus stared in the glass before taking the shot in one gulp. Gruesome displeasure flashed over his face as he visibly forced himself to swallow. With a raspy voice, he spoke, "You're right, that's bloody rough. How did Sirius drink this stuff when he was still in school?"

I rolled my eyes. "Teenagers are idiots."

Regulus huffed a laugh as he stood and sat at the kitchen table with me, pouring himself another shot. It said something that, even though the liquor was awful, he was still willing to down it. This was a man who didn't like alcohol, but who wanted the numbed drunkenness it would bring.

"I'll drink to that," Regulus nodded, taking a sip of the liquid before pulling out his wand and summoning another glass from the cupboard.

I raised an eyebrow questioningly.

There was a moment of silence, hanging heavily between us, as he seemed to come to a decision. He stared at me for what felt like an eternity and I met his eyes with a wholly faked fearlessness. I knew there were so many ways this situation could go badly wrong, but I couldn't overlook the kind of pain Regulus was in...and there might have been another way to handle it, but I didn't have the time or patience to follow through with it.

Finally, Regulus made his decision and set the glass down, and in doing so, seemed to set aside the countless unanswered questions he had for me. A silent, mutual agreement took shape as he failed to ask and took me at my word.

My gut unclenched.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," the wizard responded. "I've gone round the bend. Cissy's gonna' kill me if she ever finds out...letting her precious little Dezzy act like this. You don't act like this around my kids, do you?"

I snorted at the piercing, bad-tempered look. "No. Never. Your kids...they're good kids. They don't need any of my baggage." I poured myself a glass, but only took a small sip. I felt slightly warm from the gulp I'd taken already, which meant this stuff was _strong_. I didn't want to do anything I'd regret...besides, Regulus was the one who wanted to get wasted.

"Good," Regulus nodded. "I've probably already messed them up enough."

I frowned, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Regulus snorted. "You wouldn't understand. Lucius and Narcissa raised you right...good pureblood household. Sagittarius and Virgo? They spend too much time with their mudblood mother, even if she can't, or won't, take them."

My frown deepened and I forced myself into a more neutral expression. I'd made a good call on not explaining my situation to Regulus. He wouldn't understand...yet, at least. There might come a time when I could share my secrets with him, but...

"Tarry and Virgo are good kids," I repeated, somewhat fiercely. "They're worth ten of a pureblood brat any day. The only one of their lot I'd back over Tarry and Virgo would be Draco...and maybe Flora and Hestia."

Regulus took another sip, grimacing at the taste. "Nice of you to say, but I know they aren't quite right. I've tried to talk to them before, but...I guess I can't blame them for loving their mum, even if she is of the wrong sort."

Now I scowled and took another, slightly larger, sip of the booze. "That's no way to talk about the mother of your children, Regulus. Fuck, I can't understand purebloods sometimes. She might not have the right heritage, but she gave you two brilliant children. I won't have a word spoken against her."

Regulus' face tightened. "Should have told my mother that, sometime. I'd have loved to see her face. You should know better, though...she's the kind of woman that couldn't bring anything into the Black family, Mother would have been within rights to throw me out the minute I came home with Sagittarius and Virgo."

"Because she was a wretched, loathsome human being that couldn't see past her own prejudice. Do you love you children?" I asked.

Regulus's face, which had been coloring with the rage of a child's insult mother, transitioned to the anger of an offended parent. "What kind of question is that!? Of course I love them!"

"Then what your mother said or thought doesn't matter," I spat, taking a rather large gulp and treasuring the fire burning in my gullet.

Regulus dropped his head in his hands chuckling darkly. "And you'd like me to think that, wouldn't you? I say something like that in front of your father and he'll have me and my kids out on the street. Of course, it's not like Lucius and Narcissa won't do that anyway."

I grimaced. "I don't guess there's some loophole I can exploit? Maybe emancipate myself?"

Regulus eyed me owlishly, "What?"

I groaned, palming my own face. "Great! I don't even want the stupid inheritance! I hate politics! Fuck!"

Disbelief was clear on Regulus' face, somewhere between the vacancy and shock. "You're serious."

"Of course I am," I growled, rubbing at my forehead as I felt a pleasant numbness seep into my bones, my muscles relaxing in ways that felt so terribly, nostalgically good. "I hate politics," I repeated. "I don't want to deal with people who smile as they sharpen knives and practice deadly spells. I don't even like people all that much. I'd rather spend the rest of my days reading under the sun and lazing under the moon."

"You remind me of my brother," Regulus said absently, smiling softly. "Sirius always had his head in the clouds...although, he didn't like books nearly as much as you. He was always...different, too. He hated Mother, Father too. He never...fit."

I ran my thumb over the rim of my glass thoughtlessly, staring into the clear liquid.

"...I have no idea what to do," I confessed, sighing into the pregnant silence. "I didn't...couldn't plan for this. What...do I do?"

"Never thought I'd hear a Malfoy say that," Regulus commented. "Your grandfather, Abraxus...he was always trying to steal the Black family headship. He thought Narcissha," I noticed the booze seeping into his speech as my mother's name slurred, "would bring in the Black money. Guess he was right, even if not in the way he intended."

"What do family heads do, even?" I asked in desperation.

"Lushius never explained anything?" Regulus asked, blinking.

"That was always Draco's thing," I demurred. "I never really wanted part of it."

Regulus stared at me for another moment, laughing quietly to himself and shaking his head. "Ah, let's shee...mostly just take care of the family, the money, and the landsh. Though, you're to young to...what'd dad always say? 'Asshume your proper dutiesh?' Yeah, that's right. You'll need a...whatchamacallit. A regent!"

"Ugh," I groaned, moving to take another sip and finding my glass empty.

I blinked stupidly at it for a long moment, trying to understand what the lack of alcohol meant. Shaking my head, I set the glass down and mentally shelved the topic for later consideration even as Regulus poured himself another glass.

"Sho..." The older coughed, staring at me as if he'd forgotten what he was about to say. "Sophia...Sagittarius and Virgo's mum, is dieing."

I winced. "Shite. Sorry."

Regulus nodded, swallowing an almost visible lump in his throat. "I met her in this bar, down in Italy or Sicily, or something. Didn't speak Italian. She spoke English, learned it in schule or what have you. I was...runnin, from tshe Dark Lord. I was _nineteen_. I had a few drinksh and we went back to my room. Shiriush alwaysh said I should have more fun...guessh I showed him, huh?"

"Fuck," I muttered, proving that my 'guy attitude' from my prior life wasn't completely gone. I was about as empathic as your average rock and twice as eloquent. It was both comforting and extremely irritating.

"Then, she showsh up a couple weeksh later, I'm about to leave, and she says she's preggers and I've gotta take resphonsibility. Next year, I've got two kidsh with me on my way to Franshe." Regulus finished. "Now, their mum is gonna' die and I'll have to take care of them more than I already do. I don't know what I'm doin with kidsh..."

"You're doin fine," I reassured, shaking my head. "Virgo and Tarry are wicked good kidsh."

"Yeah shure," Regulus waved me off, refiling his glass as I wondered when he'd emptied it. Even as I thought that, he spilled more into my glass. "But what if I fuck 'em up? Mum and dad schrewed up Shiriush and me pretty bad ash it is."

I took another sip of the burning liquid, taking my time in answering. Finally, I nodded. "Look, Regulush, as long ash you're worried about fucking up, you won't blame your kidsh for you bein' sthupid. That's what shitty parentsh do, blame their kidsh, ya' know."

Regulus mulled over my answer, nodding to himself. "Thanksh, Dez...that helpsh. I sthill don't know what I'm gonna' do when your da' kicksh me and the kidsh out..."

My befuddled mind stumbled around the problem, probing at solutions. As my eyes widened slowly in realization, I stood up with drunken urgency and declared...

"I've got mashelf a plan," I grinned, emptying my glass.

Then, then night began to get hazy and indistinct.

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

"I'm never drinking again," I swore, repeating the alcohol's oath for posterity. Opening my aching eyes, I managed a quick look at the great grandfather clock in the foyer, where I had collapsed onto a sofa couch. Something rattled in my brain as I noted the time.

Then my eyes seized shut as the bright morning light pierced into them.

"Never a-fuckin'-gin," I spat, groaning and rolling over. It was far from my worst hangover, but comparatively speaking, this body wasn't used to this type of pain. It was just as well, I didn't intend to make this a habit and I didn't really _like _booze all that much either. I was what most people called a 'celebratory drinker,' which meant parties (that I hardly ever went to), special occasions (that I tried like Hell to get an excuse for), and drinking-age birthday parties (which I unfortunately usually needed to attend).

I rubbed at my head and tried to navigate my way into the kitchen, with varying amounts of success, though I eventually managed to pour myself a glass of water. Forcing myself to drink the entire thing, I collapsed into the nearest chair and continued my re-hydration.

_Okay...eight-thirty. Good. S'pposed to be at Gringotts...ten-thirty? Yes, good. Now...what needs to happen?_

I forced my brain to start back up, tabling events from last night for later consideration.

_Ugh...need a shower, rinse mouth out with some of that potion-mouthwash-stuff, my tongue tastes like wet dog..._

Priorities set, I nodded gently to myself and started up towards the guest bathroom.

_Let's see...shower, dress, wake Tarry and Virgo up, get them washed and dressed...ugh...hopefully Regulus is in his room and do the same...to...him...what._

My train of thought derailed, its toxic and hazardous cargo spilling over my mindscape as the conductor died a terrible, fiery, screaming death. After standing, blinking, at the front parlor for several long minutes, I shook my head and turned towards the stairs.

I would deal with the llama later.

For my own mental health, if nothing else.

"Never drinking again," I muttered spitefully, lugging my recalcitrant body up the stairs. Largely undaunted, I continued into the guest bathroom, only to find the tub occupied. My brain stalled out again, refusing to compute as I contemplated the scene before me.

Regulus.

A bathing suit which looked like it was from the nineteen twenties.

A bathtub full of red jello.

Dipping my hand in, I found it the proper consistency and raised a bit to my mouth. My stomach was rebellious at the moment, but...jello.

_Mmm...cherry._

Taking another handful, I changed course to the master bath, grabbing a change of my own clothes on the way from my overnight bag.

I'd deal with the bathtub full of cherry jello later.

Preferably after the llama.

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

"-I still wonder where it came from," Regulus muttered.

"You mean where we got it," I corrected him lowly as we walked down Diagon Alley. A pair of showers, another few glasses of water, and a Pepper-up potion each later, Regulus and I were in considerably better shape, though I took the time to add a bit of powder to my face to cover up the slight, but noticeable, dark circles under my eyes. "I seriously don't think summoning charms work on animals that large. We probably went out and raided a zoo or something."

Regulus groaned imperceptibly. "Your parents are going to _kill me_."

"For stealing a llama from a _muggle zoo_?" I asked derisively. "If they ever find out that the muggle's have zoos, they'd then need to learn a llama was actually stolen from one, which is pursuant to the fact that they would have to, somehow, learn you have a llama in your possession."

I frowned, my mind still churning.

"Are you _sure_ it isn't Conjured?" I asked, almost plaintively. It would make things so much easier if it was.

"No," Regulus shook his head, "I don't quite have the power for something like that...even if I did, it wouldn't last this long."

"Great," I muttered, scowling. "Somehow, we managed to steal a llama from a zoo (or, alternatively, we made an overnight trip to South America or Nepal or something), hold up a corner store for a great deal of jello, and probably do a few other things that are impossible for us to trace because we _don't bloody remember what happened_."

I vaguely remembered a series of movies having to do with a group of people who get blindingly drunk, or drugged, or something and have no idea what happened the night before. I also remembered it being funny as hell.

Living it?

Decidedly less so.

Regulus was silent as the grave, probably waiting for the impending sentence of death by Cruciatus when my parents met us at the bank. After all, he'd gotten a _very _minor girl drunk and taken her out on the town for a night of very strange debauchery. Granted, he had some cause for concern, and his palpable relief when I'd confirmed a lack of..._activity_ in my nether regions had been vastly amusing, but in actuality it had likely been me who had dragged the poor idiot into London Town for a Grand Old Night.

Mentally, though, I shivered at the possibility I'd had sex and I had been just as relieved as Regulus when it'd turned out to be false.

_Never. Drinking. Again._

"Look," I ordered, still speaking to where Tarry and Virgo couldn't hear us, "All we have to do is keep our mouths shut. Don't look anyone in the eye in case they're a Leglimens and we'll be fine. Just pretend like nothing happened last night and no one will know the difference."

Regulus, noticeably, did not seem an happier or even make an effort to pretend he believed me.

I shook my head despondently and took a deep breath, closing my eyes as we stepped over the goblin-guarded threshold of the bank.

_Find your center..._

_There is fury, but within, peace._

_ Clam, cool, and collected..._

_ There is weakness, but within, strength._

_ I am Desdemona Malfoy..._

_ There is wrath, but within, grace._

_ And...hold..._

_ There is a storm, but within, stillness._

I opened my eyes, feeling the mask-like tension settle on my face, so familiar as to be imperceptible. Emotions seemed more distant now, my alarm and unease at the morning's revelations pushed to the side as I readied myself to meet my parents. I checked myself over one last time and discretely fixed the tiniest of misplaced fabrics before nodding to myself.

"Uncle Regulus, I take it you placed your new...pet, in the loft, before we left? I would so hate for it to chew the late Lady Black's favorite easy chair to shreds," I commented in a soft and cool tone.

Regulus blinked, turning back and eying me for a long second, then shaking his head.

"Yeah, its in the attic. Thanks for that idea, by the way." The older man replied.

I smiled minutely, thinking back to the room which would, in a likely alternate future, house a hippogriff named Buckbeak. As the area was now only occupied by a few dusty old boxes, we'd left instructions for Kreatcher to take care of any messes it made until a plan could be devised to deal with it.

"Excellent," I hummed, "Now...I just need to go through with it."

Regulus blinked and opened his mouth to ask, but the discussion was cut short as Lucius and Narcissa, along with Draco, stepped out from Gringotts communal floo.

"Mother, Father," I greeted, half-smiling politely. "Brother."

Lucius regarded me imperiously, though warmly.

Narcissa had the most humanity in her gaze.

Draco looked as though he'd rather be on his broom, at home, than here.

Greetings were exchanged and we ventured towards one of the tellers, the entourage in tow.

Goblins...I didn't really 'get' goblins. They weren't human, they didn't act like humans, and they didn't want anything to do with humans. There was more than enough cultural hatred and bad blood over the centuries to explain the negative feelings, but...I had the feeling it was something more. There wasn't any 'impoliteness' in the way a goblin addressed a human, merely the kind of gruff, brusque attitude I'd seen in dozens of businessmen of my former world.

I'd never, as yet, had any true personal dealings with the non-humans, but I retained an air of strict...not quite 'politeness,' but at least 'non-insulting-ness.'

It was a few short minutes before we were shown into a large room off to the side of the main bank, fitted with numerous chairs and a large podium at the front. Other individuals had already arrived, a few people I somewhat-recognized from cadet branches of the Blacks and even a Malfoy or two my family didn't mention in polite society.

_Cough-bastard family lines-Cough_

I affected my absolute most disdainful and arrogant gaze towards those individuals especially, making sure to raise my nose an extra degree or two and let a superior sneer cross my face.

_Probably hoping one of the proper Malfoy name will drop some pocket change or something..._

I honestly couldn't understand why they were here. It wasn't as if Walburga Black would have seen fit to leave anything to a long line of bastard children sired on the wrong side of the sheets. As I was looking about, I glimpsed exactly the person I'd hoped to see. I deliberately refrained from smiling...I didn't want to spook them.

_Well, at least I don't have to worry about naming them in abstentia...that would have been a pain in the arse._

In short order, we were seated before a graying wizard standing at the podium, looking as though he'd been ancient before the wheel had been invented. I suppose that made him about half as old as Dumbledore himself. I had to applaud Gringotts, though, they'd probably foreseen the disrespect pureblood wizards would pay to a goblin spokesperson and selected a human for the honor.

...either that, or they'd just rather not deal with the remaining Blacks, Malfoys, and a few other relatively distant cousins all in the same room and trying to out-pureblood each other.

...on second though, that was probably it.

Cutting my eyes to the side, I noticed that Tarry and Virgo were seated with their father, looking every inch the Black heirs they were supposed to be. My cheeks twitched, but I resisted the urge to smile once again as pride for my friends welled up.

_They might not have been born into it, not quite at least, but they're good actors..._

"Ah, yes..." The aged wizard coughed, bringing the room to a respectful silence. Everyone was at least willing to let the will be read before they made a scene. "My name is Adrian Tombs, and we are gathered here today, Lords and Ladies, to read the will of the late and honorable Lady Walburga Black. Now, before we begin, I have some general instructions..."

Interruptions would not be tolerated.

If a person or persons were disruptive, they would be asked to leave.

If they would not leave, they would be made to leave.

Legal affairs would be handled after the will was read, wherein individuals who were bequeathed items, land, or money would sign for their possession.

No, you could not sign for something before the reading was over and if you asked, it would count as a disruption of the proceedings.

So did asking to be excused for the restrooms, and sneezing, and...you get the drift.

I think he scowled especially hard when he got to that part, his eyes hard as flint and twice as sharp. I had to fight back a giggle, I liked this guy, he knew how to be no nonsense. I particularly liked his droning voice and wondered momentarily if this guy was...what was his name? That guy who did the...eye drops commercials? Maybe this was his magical cousin or something?

"...and to my niece, Andromeda Tonks, nee Black, I leave a sealed envelope to be handed over to her person after my passing," Tombs read aloud, holding up a parchment square with a wax seal on it. "To my other niece, Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, I leave the contents of the small oak box to be found with the will and a letter to be delivered as abovementioned."

Tombs held up the items and put them to the side, where a small stack of random items and letters was arranged.

"To my son, Regulus Black," the old wizard read, "I leave the sum of ten thousand gold galleons and the peace of mind of having finally stood up to your mother. Despite what has happened, I am proud of you."

My lips tightened and, out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Regulus flinch as if struck, a chink in his armor showing. Tarry and Virgo looked to be honestly trying to maintain their composure, but failing ever so slightly as they looked to their father with concern.

"To my delinquent son and my final niece, Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black, I leave nothing as befits such failures to society and their lineage." Tombs read, and I felt myself wince despite my control.

_They were family, you bitch..._

Sure, there was the possibility they were both insane and/or murderously maniacal, but...they were family. They _are _family.

I felt my resolve to get Sirius out of Azkaban strengthen. If Bellatrix...if she deserved it, I would try. If she was every bit the mad dog I'd read about and watched years ago...well, I'd do my duty as the head of her family.

...and put her down, because...

_She's family._

"...to my grandnephew, Draco Abraxus Malfoy, I leave the sum of a thousand gold galleons to be awarded to his parents, who may dispense it such as they see fit. I hope that this may replace the birthdays, solstices, and other holidays which I will not be present for."

My eyes narrowed as I saw Draco break out into a perceivable sneer.

_Try harder Walburga, you didn't make Tarry and Virgo conspicuously absent enough..._

A woman like Walburga Black did nothing by chance. There was no such thing as an accident to her. It wasn't a very subtle slightly, but from the lack of expression on the Black twin's faces, I saw that they understood. It was Walburga's way of say that they didn't belong, that they would never be good enough. My jaw clenched in anger.

"...and finally, to my grandniece, Desdemona Galatea Malfoy, I leave the sum total of my most precious possessions and the whole of my remaining material wealth, lands, rents, properties, and the headship of the Black family."

Mother and Father smiled like sharks.

A vicious and dark anger bloomed within me, begging to be unleashed . I reflexively called on my mental exercises, desperate to stay in control. Getting angry and lashing out at Lucius and Narcissa would solve _nothing_, I reminded myself.

"As my heir is a minor, she will bear the responsibility of choosing a regent to represent her and the Black family until her age of majority. Due also to her legal state, I impose the requirement that she name an heir within one week of the will reading to provide a pure line of succession in the event of unforeseen accidents or unfortunate events. I wish her a bright future and care for all those things important to me, which she now bears responsibility for."

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe deeply.

Regulus had told me, but hearing it from the old wizard's mouth made it real. I felt my delicately manicured and polished nails (but not painted, purebloods did not paint their nails) dig into the skin of my palm, doubtless leaving tiny white crescent moons from the pressure.

"Would the heiress please approach?" Adrian Tombs asked in his blank, gray voice.

I stood mechanically, not bothering to flick a glance towards Regulus, Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, Tarry, or Virgo. I needed to concentrate...I needed to not lose my nerve. I'm rather proud of the way I held myself steady as I approached.

"I will need the name of your regent," Tombs rasped out, looming over me like some carrion-eating vulture.

"I'm ready to give the name of my regent," I affirmed, "I am also ready to name my heir."

I heard a noise behind me, doubtless the collective movement of my audience as they shifted their weight in expectation. Tombs arched an eyebrow, but nodded.

"Regent first. He or she will need to cosign the appointment of your heir," Tombs stated.

"My regent will be Regulus Arcturus Black," I said, loudly and clearly. Behind me, I heard Mother gasp almost imperceptibly. Father remained as silent as the grave and I refused to give him the satisfaction of turning to look at him. Still, the space between my shoulder blades itched with the attention of dozens of eyes resting on it.

"Will the regent, so named, come forth to sign," Tombs said. Not asked, mind you, but said...or ordered. It was as polite as possible, but it was an order all the same.

I heard light footsteps as my...friend approached.

He caught my eyes with his own, wide and startled orbs. I gave him a reassuring grin that made a muscle spasm above his left eye.

"Regulus Arcturus Black," Tombs rasped out and placed a piece of parchment on the table. It looked to be a long and detailed contract. "Are you knowledgeable regarding the duties, privileges, and responsibilities of a regent of an Ancient and Noble House as outlined in this document?"

Regulus made a show of looking over the document, but clearly knew what it entailed. It might have even been drafted by his father, once upon a time. After a moment, he looked up and nodded once, decisively. "I am."

"So witnessed," Tombs nodded, watching as I signed, Regulus signed, and finally as he added his own signature to the document. "Now, as per the requirement of her inheritance, the Lady-In-Waiting-Black Desdemona Galatea Malfoy will name her heir."

My mouth dried and I swallowed once, twice, three times before finding enough saliva in my mouth to form the words.

"I name Nymphadora Isla Tonks as my heir," I stated loudly and clearly.

In other circumstances, I would have found the shocked gasps, hisses, and hushed whispered funny. As it was, I wanted to crawled under the table and hide inside my own robes. I tightened the reigns on my self control and forced down my blush. I could blush, and whimper, and cry at the unfairness of the world in general after this mess was over.

"Would the heir, so named, come forward," Tombs ordered.

The footsteps this time were awkward and young. Too tentative and hesitant. I watched from the corner of my eye as a flushing teen with neon-pink hair and brown-turning-to-blue eyes walked up. She was in what were obviously her Hogwarts robes, minus the tie and House coloration. They were, knowing...well, 'knowing' Tonks, probably the most formal clothing she owned.

She bit her lip as she turned to me.

I couldn't imagine how I, a nine year old little sprat, managed to intimidate her as obviously as she was. "Wotcher...um..."

"Desdemona Malfoy," I introduced myself bowing.

She reciprocated awkwardly and clumsily.

"Nymphadora Isla Tonks," Tombs interrupted, looking irritable, "In the event of medical incapacitation, untimely or accidental death, or Desdemona Galatea Malfoy otherwise being unable to serve her duties at the time of her majority, you will be called to serve as the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Do you understand your responsibilities and agree to accept the duties and privileges of your station should you be called upon?"

Nymphadora winced at hearing her proper name, and then looked back at me, then turned to look at someone in the audience, presumably her mother or father. Finally, just when the elderly wizard looked ready to do something he wouldn't regret at all, the metamorphamagus turned back to him and nodded with only the slightest quiver in her movements and words. "Yes, I do."

I released what I hoped was a minuscule breath and allowed myself a tiny smile at the end of the matter. Schooling my face, I turned and bowed to both my regent and my heir, and went back to sit down with my family, blithely ignoring the subdued outrage on Mother's face, the insulted confusion on Draco's, and Father's...

_...somehow, I'd rather he'd have been angry._

Father was giving me a look which Godfather Snape reserved for particularly interesting concoctions and potions. It was the look I imagined normal people gave to uniquely intelligent pets and animals who perform tricks far in advance of their ability. It was the look you'd give to a monkey who started doing calculus in a well-spoken British accident.

_...and now I'm going to actually have to explain _why_ I didn't just hand over control of the Black legacy to Mother or Father, chose Regulus of all people as my regent when its abundantly clear there's something wrong with him or his children, and why I just picked the child of the whitest sheep in our entire family to be my inheritor. ...oh, and I have to do all of this without managing to do anything 'out of character' for Desdemona Malfoy._

I pressed a set of fingers to my left temple even as a grim and serious Andromeda and Ted Tonks began marching my family's way, their teenage child trailing behind them. As more individuals moved to claim their rightful inheritance from Walburga's estate, I stepped away from the growing din, but not so far away as to be isolated from Lucius and Narcissa.

_...someone stop the world, I wanna' get off..._

"Lord Malfoy," Andromeda addressed my father curtly, her eyes flickering my way as I stood with a guileless and distant look plastered on my face. "I believe there is a conversation which needs to be had."

An impossible smile tugged at Father's lips and I nearly gaped at the twinge of expression. In a smug and dismissive tone, he deigned to answer his sister-in-law. "I'm sure I don't know what you're speaking of, Andromeda...Edward. I suppose I should congratulate my daughter's choice of inheritor, though, I daresay she was only slightly more stunned at the choice than certain other individuals in the audience."

I swallowed my frown.

_And...this day just keeps getting better. Now Father has legitimately and truthfully (two words that I never thought I would apply towards the man) deflected anger and irritation that this is one of his 'schemes' and, instead, focused the attention of an angry and protective mother onto me._

Discretely, I noticed Father's hand curled about Narcissa's wrist, a quick exchange of not-quite-there expressions allowing for a coded conversation between my parents which I couldn't hope to break. Having to disregard the matter, I turned to face the full attentions of Andromeda Tonks...who had been raised a Black.

It showed.

"Desdemona Malfoy," the older woman intoned, sketching a quick bow which I immediately reciprocated.

"Lady Andromeda," I replied, deftly bypassing the faux paus of referring to her as 'Lady Tonks' which would bring me more grief than I'd ever like to see from my parents. You couldn't just refer to a muggleborn name with the same politeness as the name of an Ancient and Noble House.

It just wasn't done.

"It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of yourself and your husband," I continued, once again bypassing the difficulty of referring to Edward 'Ted' Tonks by 'Lord,' which would be even more gauche than the prior sin. "I do offer my sincerest apologies regarding any surprise or alarm you experienced due to my actions."

Andromeda retained her unnerving and piercing gaze as I struggled to hold myself together.

_I would not show weakness._

_ I. Would. Not._

"It would be rude for me not to accept such a gracious apology," Andromeda replied, notably making no move to actually _accept _my apology. "Might the Lady-In-Waiting-Black have a moment to discuss the earlier matter in more detail? Perhaps at her home or my own?"

I forced myself not to bristle at the casual disrespect, even if I was just nine. "I'm afraid my time already has a prior claim on it, though I would be overjoyed to meet with yourself and your family at your leisure...perhaps at Grimmuald Place? I'm sure Regulus could set up a timely brunch."

Andromeda kept me pierced with her stare, but slowly nodded, resolved to wait, "Very well, I look forward to our...discussion. I believe I will go meet up with my dear cousin...it has been ever so long since we talked."

_Better you than me, Reggie. Better you than me._

Mother coughed politely and I refrained, barely, from a startled jump. Looking towards my parents, I felt impending doom began to settle cold and hard in my stomach, a stone that did its best to imitate nervous sickness.

_...I hate politics...so much._

* * *

_Whooh!_Chapter 1 of my Thesis is done! Weeee! In celebration, I finished this chapter up (though it almost got too long) and decided to post it. In other news, one of my friends' apartments caught on fire! His upstairs neighbor died! My father's the landlord to BOTH their apartments! (Slams head onto desk) This week has been a special kind of fun reserved for sitcom stars and the people who make laugh tracks.

In other news, I have no idea what to think about this chapter. I had someone look over part of it and they said it was pretty good and In Character, which was my main concern. Since the character is...ME, more or less, I could see myself doing this. (looks around) Yeah, actually, that's pretty disturbing. Anyway, not to put too fine a point on it, but something like this has actually happened to me before, so don't worry about this straying into crackfic territory. Granted the animal wasn't actually a llama and...I'm just going to shut up now.

So...reactions to the inheritance of the Black family headship? Well done? Poorly done? OMG you're a Mary Sue!?

Read and Review Plz

-Slayer Anderson


	11. Chapter 11

Slayer Anderson

In Bad Faith Chapter 11

A Harry Potter Self-Insert

10/02/2013

* * *

Chapter XI – Confrontations & Explanations

* * *

_Oh Crap._

This utterance, and all of its variations have been used by generations of individuals to convey a sudden ill feeling for any number of reasons. Sometimes, it is vague and unspecific pall which comes over a person, other times it is a pointed and cold stab of doom that makes one want to run for the hills. My use of the phrase was more in line with the latter situation in that, as my parents and I arrived back at Malfoy Manor, Draco was immediately dismissed to his room while I was escorted towards my Father's study. My dear, sweet brother saw fit to flash me a superior smirk before vanishing down the children's wing.

I clenched my fist, willing my hands to stop shaking.

I wanted to say I was angry...at myself, for getting into this situation. At Draco, for mocking me. At fate, destiny, or whatever crock was putting me through this hell. That was what I wanted to say, to lie to myself...and if anyone had asked, I would have lied straight-faced to them.

But the truth?

I was afraid.

I feared punishment yes, but there were...other things I was afraid of which surprised me. I wasn't afraid of my Father because he was Lucius Malfoy, a Deah Eater, a Dark Wizard, or anything like that. I was afraid because I had disappointed him. Even after nine years as his daughter, the simplicity of the concept caught me wrong-footed.

It was terrifying to realize that I had, in my own odd way, grown to love my Father and Mother.

I was afraid because of what it might mean for the future. It was one thing to contemplate the need for Lucius or Narcissa to die in combat with Aurors or the Dumbledore's little group (something about Phoenixes?), but...

_I don't want them to die._

I swallowed the emotion and tried to center myself.

It didn't work as well as I'd hoped.

"Desdemona," Mother stated, drawing my attention. I looked up to see my parents behind Father's desk, him seated and mother standing by his side. It was a calculated move, Mother had explained once upon a time, which implied familial solidarity to an outsider.

My gut clenched.

_Outsider_

"I think you have some explaining to do, Desdemona," Father intoned, his stare even. "I would have your decisions of the past few hours properly explicated. If you prove not to be able to do so, we will then discuss your punishment."

I bit my lip, but nodded.

"I believe, for the purposes of this conversation," Lucius continued, "that we will do away with the fiction that your mother and I are unaware that Regulus' spawn are half-bloods."

I couldn't control the minute widening of my eyes and Mother's lip twitched as a self-satisfied expression flitted over her face, "Really, Desdemona, although Regulus was able dress them adequately enough for the lesser purebloods to be fooled, we _are _the upper crust of society. It will be a dark day for the Malfoys and the Blacks should your father and I not be able to tell a half-blood with delusions of adequacy from a proper pureblood."

Although the vaguely nasty way in which Mother referred to my friends left a bad taste in my mouth, I nodded obediently. "I apologize for underestimating your powers of observation Mother, Father; the circumstances, though, convinced me that, should you have known, you did not wish to make an issue of it."

"Indeed, we didn't," Father nodded minutely. "Because it was not politically expedient to do so. The Black family represents a great deal of capital: physical, monetary, and political. Our hope had been for you to insinuate yourself into Walburga Black's good graces and, given your aunt's lack of any..._acceptable _inheritors, she would choose you to take over the House of Black."

I felt my stomach roil and light-headedness swim into being.

"Which you did excellently," Mother smiled, though there was an edge to it. "We are _very _proud of the fact that you were able to exhibit such grace and finesse in such a situation, by the way. I know it can't have been easy to associate with Regulus or his children knowing what you did."

I swallowed dryly, pushing back the acute horror at the last few minutes' revelations and forced myself to say something. "I...it was expedient. Virgo and Sagittarius have been tutoring me in French and Regulus and I have had several conversations regarding the state of the Black family's assets."

There was a faint air of approval in Father's eyes. "Very resourceful of you, Daughter, to use your own resources even after I had disallowed you a teacher for the subject. I assume this has been beneficial for you?"

"I am approaching fluency, though still at a conversational level," I explained, finding it easier to ignore the screaming voice in my mind that cried out against the _unfairness_ and _injustice_ of the situation.

_You manipulated your own CHILD like a piece on a board, coldly and unfeelingly and you think its a GOOD THING?!_

Another part of me knew it was the intelligent thing to do. It ensured the second child, one who had little promise of an inheritance, would have their future assured. Yes, it was cold and unfeeling. It was manipulation at its most base and inexcusable. The people I'd just realized that I loved as parents considered me an investment, an abstract mathematical calculation of worth and value which needed to propagate itself over time...

I had, without thinking and out of the kindness of my heart...performed exactly to their expectations.

_Was it kindness? Or...do I understand, on some level, that this is just how the game is played? Did it mean that my parents didn't love me...or was it confirmation that my parents did, in fact, love me? That they want what's best for me? That they want me to be prepared for the real world?_

"I applaud you for the fact that your tutor's reports have not fallen in their praise for your academics," Father granted. "And your tutor notes that you will soon attain fluency in Cornish and Gaelic as well. I believe this will bring your total languages up to...six? You are becoming quite the polyglot, Desdemona."

"I...merely see no reason why I should not be able to read or talk with any person I please," I stated, flushing slightly and letting my eyes drift towards the floor.

"That said," Mother interjected, "You should understand exactly the kind of...disruption you've caused today. This is no mere bending of your father's authority. You publicly flouted his image as a pureblood Lord by choosing Regulus as your regent instead of your father. I'd like that, at least, explained before we start to discuss the utter disaster of your..._heir_."

Idly, I pondered how Mother managed to inject such disgust within a single word, but still say it with all the grace of her proper station. I resolved to ask her later and took a deep breath, pretending that I wasn't shaking like a leaf.

"I am sorry that I did not explain my aims to you beforehand, Mother, Father," I said, swallowing deeply. "In truth, I had...multiple different reasons for choosing Regulus as my regent."

Lucius raised a single immaculate eyebrow, his gaze expectant. "Such as?"

"Given your vociferous complaints of Dumbledore's faction, Father, I was given to understand that the present political climate gives a clear plurality to either you or the Headmaster's group under different circumstances. If I am not underestimating the adversarial relationship between you and he, I believe the sudden acquisition of the Black family's resources would give Dumbledore sufficient evidence to argue the political moderates to his side lest you dominate the current government more thoroughly than you already have. This would invalidate your gains in a best-case scenario, or over-taking them in the worst case." I explained, trying to (and only partially succeeding in) keeping my voice even.

Narcissa cocked her head, twisting to look at Lucius, who wore a curious half-smile.

"A salient point, Daughter," Father stated after a short pause. "I suppose I can cede you your argument. I do wonder, though, would not the others of our social circle see through such a scheme? You are, after all, a Malfoy. Regardless of whether or not you are the In-Waiting Head of the House of Black, you are still my daughter and, therefore, open to my influence."

I pondered the question for a moment, noting the _knowing_ gaze my father had fixed on me. After a few seconds, I came to the conclusion that this was a test...but what kind of test? I bit my lip slightly and resolved to give a modification of my original answer.

_If Father and Mother already knew about Tarry and Virgo, well...I might be able to work with that..._

"That is actually why I chose Regulus as my regent," I explained. "Given his children's heritage and the likelihood that it would eventually come to light...in a more public manner, I had planned on painting Regulus as a political moderate, and therefore lacking any plausible connection to your conservative block, until such time as I can take control of the Black assets myself. The fact that Regulus has fathered two children out of wedlock with a muggleborn woman will make him appealing to those leaning towards Dumbldore's faction. Also, given the fact that I am so young, the shock of my appointing such an individual can be painted as manipulation of _Regulus' _part, not my own."

Lucius nodded slowly, "Indeed...a bit over-complicated and blunt, but not obvious at first look. People will have to work ever-so-slightly to come to such a conclusion, therefore believing themselves in the right and rather clever for having seen such."

Narcissa's face was rather blank, worrying me.

"And this does explain a bit of your choice in heir..." Lucius trailed off, looking at me expectantly.

I swallowed again, my mouth going slightly dry. "I had wanted outsiders to see such as an attempt by Regulus to reconcile between himself and Andromeda and consolidate his own faction within the moderates, though I'm not honestly sure how well it will work. From what little I know of Nymphadora Tonks, she seems much more likely to fall under Dumbledore's aegis..."

"Yes, such is valid speculation," Lucius nodded. "And your other reasons for appointing the metamorphamagus as your heir?"

There was a moment of silence where I ordered my thoughts.

"Given my choice of regent and the overall plan I was working towards, Regulus's children were not suitable choices. In the event Regulus proves to be less tractable than I anticipate, I wanted as little incentive to betray me as possible. Also, because I'm attempting to force the perception of distance between his and your political leanings, I couldn't choose Draco. The fact that Regulus does not actually intend to reconcile with Andromeda, and given the bad blood between the two and their respective ideologies, I'm fairly sure I can play them against each other well enough to mitigate any risk on my part." I inhaled, taking a deep breath. While I hadn't been speaking quickly, instead taking a measured and self-assured tone, implying I knew what I was talking about.

_If I manage this? I want an Emmy...and an Oscar._

"Choosing Nymphadora was a calculated risk on my part, given that it is possible, though I believe unlikely, that Regulus and Andromeda could work together to remove any possibility of my exercising any real power. In such an event, I'd likely have to bide my time until my majority...I doubt either Andromeda or Regulus would look into anything..._permanent_; for different reasons, of course, but my point stands."

This time there was a longer silence as Father and Mother digested the points which I had made and the arguments backing them. Overall, I was fairly confident that my...well, not 'lies' persay, but certainly misdirections, would hold up under examination.

Whether or not I could actually manipulate my side of the situation, though?

Well, that would depend, largely, on establishing a good repore with both Regulus and Nymphadora, which, necessitated talking Andromeda into the agreement too. Of course, there were benefits, given that I could feasibly excuse re-admiting the Tonks family into the Blacks, which would (hopefully) give me Andromeda's skill and ability to add to Regulus' and placed at my disposal.

_Then, there are the long-term advantages of Nymphadora Tonks being under my purview. If she becomes an Auror, then a member of the Order of the Phoenix, I'll have a method to communicate (hopefully discretely) with Dumbledore, should it become necessary._

"You will have to tread carefully from here on out, Desdemona." Lucius spoke, jarring me from my reverie and brining my focus back to him. "You've effectively made a play for time by appointing Regulus. If certain individuals become aware of the fact that you are the 'power behind the throne,' so to speak, it will paint you in a light that could be very unflattering. As well, this entire deception would have been unnecessary would that you have come to me before-hand, but you did not."

I nodded, my gaze dropping again.

"So, I would know why. What is your final reason for indulging yourself in this little game?" Lucius asked abruptly.

So abruptly, in fact that, I couldn't stop myself from wincing, then blushing as Father smirked at my overt reaction.

_I really hate it when he does that...fine._

"I...I wanted to make you proud of me by securing political leverage by using Regulus as a proxy by which to negotiate favors...with you," I mumbled, not having to fake my embarrassment and shame at being called out, my eyes flickering anywhere but my Father.

It was then that Lucius did something that I will never forget.

He laughed.

It was the most perverse thing I'd ever heard, staring deep within the man and erupting as a deep roar. For a few moments, I'm fairly certain Mother and I forgot how to breathe as we froze in alarm and utter, blank shock at the scene. Eventually, Lucius managed to calm himself to the point that he was able to wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes.

Still chuckling, Lucius pinned me with a glance, my entire form flinching as my eyes stayed wide and surprised.

"Child," Father stated, his voice torn between a deadly purr and a deep amusement, "Were I not so impressed at your intelligence and independence, I would lash you for your gall."

To this day, I think he meant it as a joke.

I think.

"Be that as it may, you have made your bed and now you must lie in it," Lucius said, standing. "Since there is no better fiction than the truth, and we are currently operating under the reality that you are at the behest of Regulus' advice and control, I find myself unable to give you any wisdom which you would listen to, sadly. I had hoped to be able to mentor you in the complexities of politics, but since you have so obviously demonstrated your readiness to sit at the reigns of power, I will leave you to it."

I sat stock still, not daring to turn and watch Father as he left the room.

"I will, however, be in touch with your regent. There are certain...matters, which I would appreciate the good word of House Black towards. Good day, Daughter...and take care that you do not embarrass either of the Houses which you bear the legacy of. Should such come to pass I would be much less lenient and very..._displeased_ in your conduct." Father stated, his voice once again cool and blank, the sound had always reminded me of the _hiss _of steel being drawn from a sheath.

_I wonder what it says about me that I find that comforting?_

"Oh, my little girl," I turned with a jolt towards Naricssa, who was now approaching me with a tenderness in her eyes. "Such an intelligent and cunning young woman."

I offered no resistance as she swept me into a hug, tension leaking out of me as she held me tightly. "Desdemona, you mustn't scare your poor mother like that. I had thought you a fool to incite your father's wrath like that and I a fool for not teaching you better."

I made a noiseless sound between a whine and an apology.

I could feel Mother shake her head. "I suppose it can't be helped. You have always been...worryingly curious and inquisitive, but do take pity on me and wait a few years before the next great terror I must experience. I swear, sometimes you remind me so much of Walburga-"

I take pride in having been able to hide this flinch.

"-she was very gifted at a young age too, visionary even. Now, you simply must attend the next dinner party I'm hosting here at the manor. There are a few Ladies I'd like you to meet that whose acquaintances will be beneficial to your future political career."

This time the noise I made was completely a whine.

"Mother, _must I_?" I asked plaintively, my face still buried in her blouse.

"I should think so," Mother snorted daintily. "Though I suppose I must compensate you for enduring something you apparently dislike so much...ah, Draco's lessons with his tutors are scheduled to end this fall so that he may have a break before his Hogwarts term begins the following September. I know that your lessons are not the most intellectually stimulating, given your reports demonstrate a mastery of the material beyond what you will need in managing your school work or your future estate. After all, you have been looking so tired lately...I will see what I can do about talking your father into ending your lessons as well, given that you receive such little benefit from them, so that you may finally have some free time"

I perked up at the last words.

'Free time' was a luxury I didn't enjoy much of. As a Malfoy, I had been brought up on a fairly strict schedule. Even if I hadn't requested early lessons, the stringent line of tutors and personalized lessons would have begun within another year or two anyway. Pureblood children were raised, after all, with the expectation that they would come into and be expected to be able to managed a large sum of money and property.

To be a child in the upper crust of pureblood society, did not mean you were be taught.

It meant you were _trained_.

Honestly, the only reason I had the spare time to devote to my 'extracurricular' readings was because I breezed through so many of the basic lessons. Had I not possessed a collegiate-level knowledge base, my tutoring sessions would have easily eclipsed the amount of work I'd had to do in my prior elementary and middle school _combined_.

_Who knew living in the lap of luxury meant doing so much work?_

The thought was deeply ironic and made me grin, only to be wiped away by my Mother's next stipulation. "In exchange for a cessation of your tutoring, you must attend at least three of my little soirees every week."

I hesitated.

Mother's get-togethers were _draining_ in the way that I found most social functions to be. I sincerely did not like talking to most of those horrid old biddies. Some of them couldn't go one sentence without an off-color comment or a lament of the fact that muggle-baiting was no longer allowed.

_Exaggerate much? Oh well, its either spend pointless hours each day being re-taught basic algebra and geometry or spend pointless hours learning how to exchange biting comments..._

I frowned.

_Then again, if I have to drawn another circle and graph its curve, I'm going to stab someone with that stupid compass..._

I sighed and voiced my decision.

_Well, at least I might get to sleep in sometime soon._

After another short exchange of words, Mother and I parted ways. I immediately headed towards the nearest bathroom, where I dropped to my knees and vomited up my small breakfast and what was left of my dinner, even as my body went suddenly limp from the lack of the terrible contorting tension I'd been experiencing the past few hours. It hadn't been merely physical stress, but mental and emotional stress which had been tearing at me.

_Now, I only have to go through that mess one more time..._

I groaned into the porcelain throne.

_Fuck. My. Life._

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

"And Lucius actually...he didn't punish you?" Regulus asked, his expression skeptical.

I frowned, "It depends what you mean by punishment. I think he was...proud of me? In a weird way. But...I'm not going to receive any of the advice or training Draco did. Or, at least, I won't unless I apologize and recant my bid for independence."

Regulus raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Which I won't," I responded to the unasked question. "I _am _a Malfoy. I do have my pride."

My regent gave a smirk and shook his head.

"Which means you'll have to teach me as much as you can; how the Black family finances work, what areas the family's political influence is strongest in, how exactly the Wizarding government works. I'm pretty sure your father, Orion, gave you some training to take over the headship?" I asked intently.

Regulus nodded warily. "I suppose I could teach you. My father intended for me to inherit, after all...I'm not sure how he would feel about you, honestly."

I leaned back, thinking about the situation for a long moment. Regulus was one of the few people I _needed_ on my side right now, given the way this disaster had played out. To get him on my side, though, I would need to offer him incentive. Enough incentive so that he wouldn't be tempted to stab me in the back (either literally or figuratively).

"It's in both of our best interests," I pointed out.

Regulus raised a skeptical eyebrow, "Is it? I'm not fool enough to not recognize the power-play going on here. You need me now, but what happens when you reach your age of majority?"

I decided to interrupt before he could continue. It was a dangerous line of thought. "I keep you as my regent in all but name."

Regulus blinked.

"I explained that I don't like politics. I have no intention of becoming, effectively, a professional politician for my entire life. I might be the Head of House Black, but I have little interest in the job beyond making sure the House's assets and the House itself prospers," I explained, pinning him with a serious look.

Regulus grunted thoughtfully, "So if you aren't planning on controlling the House's finances or political power, why learn?"

"Several reasons," I deflected. "Firstly, I need to keep up appearances for Mother and Father, at the very least. I have no doubt Father, at least, is going to expect me to keep up with the current political climate, which would be one of the signs that I intend to take my position seriously. Should I demonstrate the fact that I'm intending to largely disregard my inheritance, there will likely be...unfortunate consequences. Once I reach seventeen, I'll be much less beholden to Lord Malfoy."

Regulus grimaced, conceding the point.

"Secondly, 'I am not fool enough,'" I quoted with a friendly sneer, "To trust you implicitly without any oversight. Even if only for my own, personal, assurance that you are a competent and trustworthy wizard."

My regent nodded again, conceding my second point begrudgingly.

"In exchange, I'm will to sign off on you and your children using the Black finances to support yourselves and pay for tuition at Hogwarts, should you choose to enroll them there. Further, I won't stick my nose any deeper than necessary into how you choose to run _our _family's assets as long as you agree I can take an advisory role so that I can, at least, appear to learn the trade."

Regulus hummed, his eyes narrowing in thought as he considered my proposition. "And what kind of lifestyle can I and my children expect? I won't have us reduced to effectively beggars so that you may prove you have the wherewithall to cut 'unnecessary expenses.'"

I mulled the question over, "Right now, I'll assure you that as long as you're not fabulously extravagant, what little I know of the Black accounts is sufficient for me to say that I will allow a comfortable lifestyle with several not-excessive comforts. I will, after all, be living here for days (or possibly weeks at a time) and would not want to needlessly antagonize you or Tarry and Virgo."

Regulus opened his mouth to object, but I held up a hand.

"Although you might be more comfortable with a more strict financial agreement, we'll have to wait a few days until we both have a chance to look over the finances and discuss the issue. I think that should be enough for right now, don't you?"

Regulus looked at me searchingly for a long moment, but eventually nodded. "We'll need to visit Gringotts in the next few days. Although the regency is fairly simple in theory, there is a great deal of paperwork we'll need to file with the goblins. We can take a look at the books then. Do you think your father is really going to allow you free reign in this situation?"

I sighed. "Part of me thinks he's waiting for me to come begging for help after getting in over my head. Another part of me thinks he doesn't care overmuch because I'm playing with the Black family's assets rather than the Malfoy's. I don't think he would have been as forgiving if I'd done something analogous in Draco's position as his own heir. Ultimately, I'm fairly sure that he's convinced this is a temporary circumstance that he believes will muddy the waters enough for him to gain some type of advantage. As my regent, you'll need to be watchful of him."

I shook my head, regretting the next point I was going to make, but knowing it had to be made. "Then there's the fact that I was rather...public with the execution of my plan. Going along with it allows Lucius to save face among his friends and supports given that he was outwitted by you, a relative peer in age and standing, instead of backed into a corner by me, a nine year old child and his own daughter. If he waits the situation out and you or I prove lacking in our abilities, he'll have grounds to push me to reconsider my choice eventually. If he tried to do so now, it might come out that this entire thing was _my idea_ and he'll face criticism regarding his inability to keep his own House in order."

There was a certain look of admiration in my regent's eyes as he responded. "I've said it before," Regulus noted, "And I'll probably say it again, but for someone who professes to despise politics, you're awfully good at it."

I rolled my eyes, the disrespectful motion oddly nostalgic. "Just because I don't like the game doesn't mean I don't know how to play...or appreciate the skill that it takes. I'd honestly just rather not bother."

There was a beat of silence, much like the prior night, where we each settled into the idea of where we stood in regards to the other. If not equal...then at least we could relate to each other.

"If my father could hear the next head of the Black family," Regulus shook his head, then perked up. "Ah, I do have some bad news."

I groaned, palming my face. "Wonderful. What now?"

As if on cue, a loud banging erupted from above us, my brows furrowing for a moment before rising as I turned back to Regulus.

"Virgo and Tarry found Sergei," he stated plainly, looking as though he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Sergei," I said slowly, drawing the word out as if tasting it. "Right...and who is Sergei?"

"The llama," Regulus explained...which wasn't much of an explanation at all, really.

"Why is the llama named Sergei?" I asked, because I had to. I didn't really _want to_, because I was fairly certain this was the direction in which madness lay.

"That's what it says on his tags," Regulus stated, taking a sip of his tea.

"The llama has tags," I nodded, because...well, there wasn't really an alternative. I blinked, "Does...it have a return address? Or an owner's name, at least?"

"The tags say the Black Family, Grimmuald Place," Regulus stated, deadpanned. "It also has something called a rabies vaccine."

I scowled. This shite was starting to get ridiculous. "So...somehow, in the space of a single night, you and I managed to not only acquire a llama, but we either did so legally or went to the trouble of having a collar and tags made for it...while drunk."

Regulus nodded, because what was there to say?

"The kids like it. I'm pretty sure they're going to throw a fit when we have to get rid of it," Regulus noted.

I recognized the depressed note in his voice. The man really didn't like to see his kids unhappy, which was something I understood, but...

I sighed. "Just put an Expansion Charm on the backyard and keep it there. I'm relatively sure no one's going to bother coming to look for it...especially if we actually bought the damn thing."

Regulus got a mullish look on his face, seeming to table the matter for later discussion.

There was a knock on the door, shortly preceding the 'pop' of a house elf appearing.

"Kreacher is very sorry, Master, Mistress, but there are mudbloods and blood-traitors at the door. Should Kreacher throw them out?" I couldn't help but note that, although somewhat more sane than I could remember his character being, the elf was still as virulently pureblood-extremist as ever.

"No," I commanded, knowing from experience that the elf wouldn't respond to anything less. "Kreacher, you are not to insult, deride, or otherwise demean Andromeda Tonks, her husband, or her child either through action or inaction, through word or deed, or otherwise slight her in any way, shape, or form. Am I perfectly clear? You will see to any need they have, request they make, or order they give barring those which you believe adversely effect the welfare of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, in which case you are to come directly to myself or Regulus for permission to disobey their orders. Do you understand and will you obey?"

Kreacher made a nasty face, which only grew progressively worse as my miniature tirade continued. Finally finished, Kreacher scowled and nodded, the action forced and jerky.

"Impressive," Regulus noted, his mouth twitching.

"I despise loophole abuse," I replied, standing to answer the door as Regulus comforted the house elf and attempted to soothe the pain of being given an order to which he truly did not want to comply with.

In the hallway, I muttered, "At least when I'm not the one doing it."

Finding Andromeda, Edward, and Nymphadora Tonks at the door, I bowed to the prescribed angle and intoned, "Lady Andromeda, I invite you and your family to be welcome in my house. May I see you to the front parlor?"

"You may," Andromeda allowed, with all the cold politeness of an empress granting a boon. Edward and Nymphadora, likely setting foot in the house for the first time, took in the aged and proud décor with unsmiling but curious faces.

_Maybe I should redecorate? I wonder if I could get this place wired for electricity? Hmm...nah, probably more trouble than its worth. There's that whole 'technology doesn't work around magic thing,' too...eh, I'll save that for when I'm at Hogwarts. Maybe I just need to shape the circuits like runes and-_

I shook myself as we stepped into the front parlor, Regulus having anticipated my reception and in the process of serving tea for both us and our guests. I mentally applauded the choice for the full formal tea, instead of a lesser serving set. While the latter might indicate informality, using it in what was essentially a business meeting under tense circumstances was a subtle insult.

This was less like a family reunion and more akin to the negotiation of a truce between hostile powers. Regulus, accordingly, stood and bowed as was appropriate.

"Cousin, it has been far too long," Regulus stated.

"Two days and you are already missing me so?" Andromeda asked, peering at the man in mock-curiosity. "One wonders why you refrained from writing for all those years you were on the continent."

Regulus grimaced slightly, acknowledging the point Andromeda had scored.

"Regardless, I think reunions are the least of what we came to discuss," Edward interjected grimly.

"Like why my daughter has been made into a political target," Andromeda nodded, a flash of anger appearing in her otherwise calm visage.

All eyes turned to me as I felt my gut clench and my face flush at the sudden attention.

I sniffled, forcing my eyes to water as I began a downward spiral into a teary-eyed breakdown. Wiping my eyes with my sleeve, I gave a keening cry and pointed to Regulus, who's own eyes widened. "It was all Uncle Regulus' fault! He wanted to make Father angry an-and said I couldn't be friends with Tarry and Vi-vir-virgo if I didn't!"

I was able to see through teary eyes as Edward and Nymphadora turned accusatory glares on the baffled and alarmed Regulus.

"Wha-but! I didn't-she-what!?" Regulus squawked, his voice in a slightly higher octave than normal.

"Hmph!" Andromeda snorted into the ensuing silence, Regulus having backed away from the now-menacing forms of the teenage Nymphadora and fatherly Edward. "I never thought I'd see the day when a _Malfoy _of all families would stoop to such base amusement."

I was quiet for a moment before taking out a handkerchief and mopping up the more unflattering of the tear-streaks on my cheeks. "I suppose two out of three isn't awful. How did you know Regulus hadn't actually manipulate me?"

"I believe I just said you are a Malfoy, did I not?" Andromeda stated, more than asked. I snorted as I took in the shocked faces of her husband and daughter.

I shook my head, "Still, I _am _only nine years old. Most people wouldn't consider me their first choice for the force behind this situation."

"Most people were looking towards your father when you named your regent and didn't see that my dear cousin Regulus was just as surprised when you named him. It probably would have been better to have discussed the matter beforehand with him." Andromeda advised reasonably.

I pursed my lips thoughtfully. "True...although, I don't think Regulus would have gone along with it, in that case. He's far too cautious and wouldn't have liked the risk of the situation in regards to my father."

"Not many people would take angering Lord Malfoy so lightly," Andromeda noted neutrally.

"I'm relatively sure he's only mildly irked at my precociousness and intelligence right now," I said truthfully. "Otherwise, I think he's forcing himself to be amused by the fact that I've momentarily cornered him, but also content with the knowledge that this is likely a temporary situation and he'll either be able to dominate Regulus politically or I will prove incapable of supporting myself and he'll be able to assume control of both the Malfoy and Black assets."

Now Regulus was torn between stewing sourly in the revelation that I'd pranked him, if only slightly, and open disbelief at my candid attitude towards the Tonks family. Nymphadora and Edward, though, were staring at me with something between confusion, realization, and...something else, maybe wariness? I took the momentary lull in conversation to address my regent.

"Regulus, if you're going to play the manipulative and controlling regent who's seized control of a naïve young child's perspective and turned them against the political will of their knowledgeable and wise father, you really need to take opportunities like that to gloat properly," I chastised him. "If you freeze up like that in front of someone, they'll know somethings off."

Now my regent scowled at me, opening his mouth to disagree, though Andromeda beat him to it.

"She is right, dear cousin," the older witch smirked, giving me another assessing glance. "If this is the fiction you are supposed to be operating under, I would suggest you following her lead. She seems to have the situation relatively well in hand...for the moment."

"Which is something I'll need your help maintaining," I interjected towards Andromeda.

"Hence the reason you chose Nymphadora as your heir," she surmised.

"Among other reasons," I confirmed.

There was a slight pause before she nodded, seating herself.

"Very well, now that you've effectively broken the tension of the moment, I suppose I can hear out your entire reasoning. If there is enough in it for me and my family, I might consider partaking in this little farce you've got going." Andromeda propositioned.

"I suppose breaking into tears wasn't exactly subtle, was it?" I asked hypothetically, shaking my head with a small smile.

"You mean, that was-?" Nymphadora asked, interrupting my train of thought.

"Do try to keep up, child," Andromeda smirked as her daughter's hair switched between a brilliant blue and a dirty blond. "I'm afraid circumstances have changed. It seems the young Malfoy is seeking aid, in her own way, though I'm at a loss to explain why."

I bulldozed through the extremely unwelcome question and decided to focus on the other half of her concerns. I didn't really want to admit why I was undertaking this entire affair...it would lead to...unfortunate implications for me.

"Principally, I chose Nymphadora-"

"Tonks," the teen in question interjected.

I blinked, as if the fact surprised me, before shaking myself and continuing. "-Tonks, then, because she's unaffiliated with the larger political machinations of pureblood society and because granting her such an honor-"

Here Andromeda snorted.

Even though I felt my hackles rise, I blithely ignored her. "-would mean surely getting to talk to her mother, which would implicate Regulus as a more moderate-leaning individual. This would be confirmed after, eventually, word gets out that his children are halfbloods."

Andromeda's eyebrows rose, her assessment moving on to Regulus, who colored, but didn't look away.

"From what I know, although you're slightly involved in politics, Lady Andromeda, you're also considered a trustworthy individual and well-respected, if Father's virulent complaints regarding your activism are anything to go by." I continued.

"And from what I understand of your overall plan," Andromeda added, "Nymphadora-" here she glared at her child, who had been about to complain regarding the use of her name, "-is your only truly valid choice for an heir, given that only a fool would appoint a regent's children to the position of heir and after your own brother, you'd have to dig into the cadet lines and lesser houses."

I nodded, silently conceding the point.

Andromeda was silent once again, contemplating the matter.

"You've also ensured against any pureblood-backed attempt to remove you due to the fact that my daughter is a halfblood and would likely be more reformist than you, yourself," she noted. "Though highly unlikely given the relative peace of the last few years, you've consolidated a fairly good defensive position and created a smokescreen of confusion to obfuscate the fact. I'm moderately impressed."

My cheeks colored slightly, though I shook my head. "While that may be true, I'm also in a very bad position to extend my reach further or ensure my father doesn't take measures to have Regulus...removed from his position."

Andromeda frowned. "One cannot ask miracles, child. Though I suppose I could see helping you...if some conditions are met."

I inhaled, then exhaled a large sigh, "I'm not really in a position to reject them. What are they?"

"Nymphadora must be your heir, this is not a entitled position which you've bestowed to perpetuate a fiction. If something happens and you are not able to inherit, Nymphadora assumes the role of the Black family's Head of House," Andromeda commanded.

I raised an eyebrow, "I'd already intended such. Regulus and I are going to Gringotts in a few days for some paperwork. We'll be in touch and finish out the official documentation then."

If Andromeda was surprised I had been sincere, I couldn't tell.

"Re-admittance for myself, Edward, and Nymphadora to the House of Black. You have to officially induct us back into the family," Andromeda stipulated.

My eyebrow arched higher and I rather rudely raised a thumb at the large family tapestry behind me.

_I wonder what it says about the name 'Malfoy' that people don't trust me to make an honest deal or do things that would be expected from an actual family member. Maybe its not just my last name, though...maybe its pureblood culture?_

"Oh my," Edward stated, noticing the burned scars on the Tonks family names'...or rather, the lack thereof.

"Wow," Nymphadora stated, looking at me with something more pleasant than she had been prior to my little revelation.

Andromeda was silent, but her eyes were suspiciously wet.

"Again, it's not _official_, but I believe it's enough to hammer out the details later," I suggested, hoping I'd proved I was serious about making this arrangement work. Regulus had been...difficult to convince about un-erasing the Tonks family from the tapestry, but I hadn't given ground on the matter. If I...we, were going to come to any sort of agreement with Andromeda, we needed to demonstrate good faith.

"You'll also let my husband help you balance the Black finances," Andromeda ordered.

I frowned. Allowing Edward Tonks to look at the House's financial records could be...bad. There were probably plenty of secrets buried in the dusty books, which would allow Andromeda plenty of ammunition, ammunition which could then be handed over to Dumbledore or the Ministry in the event she decided the scandal of illegal activities might allow her daughter to take over the House. I narrowed my eyes and thought another moment before speaking.

"Your husband?" I asked, looking at the man, who stared back stubbornly. "Not you, I note...what kind of...credentials does he have?"

The man smirked and cut a sideways glance towards his wife before answering. "Bachelors in Economics, Masters Degree in Accounting, Board Certification, and ten years experience as an investment banker."

_That...is actually a really good reason to have him look over the books. Damn._

"Pursuant to a third-party secrecy agreement," Regulus interjected and I looked to him in mild surprise, before nodding for him to continue. "I'll have one drawn up, standard rules and governances. Any information you glean from the records or otherwise derive from House Black's documentation is to be kept secret and not shared with anyone without the approval of both the Lady-In-Waiting and her regent."

Edward's lips twitched and he reached out a hand. "I don't think we were formally introduced. Ted Tonks. Its nice to see a wizard with some common sense. Most of my magical clients don't go in for the proper amount of asset protection."

Regulus' lip curled slightly at the proffered handshake, but he took the opportunity and gave the other man's hand a firm pump.

"Regulus Arcturus Black," my regent stated with only a little pomposity. "Should you be amenable to those details, I wouldn't be averse to having a...professional aid in the accounting process."

There was a spark of tension between the two men and I was bemused to distantly recognize the ego-contest common to adult human males.

I rolled my eyes discretely.

Andromeda's mouth widened in a demure smile.

"If that's everything?" I asked, turning back to the eldest woman among our guests.

"For now," Andromeda granted. "Should you and Regulus meet the agreed-upon standards, I see no reason why our families can't move forward with this arrangemet."

"Oi!" Nymphadora suddenly interrupted, "Don't I get a say?"

As her mother raised a curious brow towards her daughter, I took the opportunity to interject. "Technically...you've already agreed to the position, seeing as how you've signed the preliminary documentation." Her face soured, pinching as the muscles twisted. "But, in the interest of equanimity, is there any further compensation which my heir would like to negotiate for?"

Nymphadora _twitched_. "Don't _do that_! Kids your age shouldn't talk like that!"

Andromeda winced at her daughter's rudeness, though I took little offense to the matter...at least, outwardly. There was an emotional sting to the words, one which I tried to ignore as much as possible. I might be relatively thin-skinned in terms of insults and the like, but actually getting me angry had always taken a lot more. Like laughing at me...

"I offer the sincerest apologies of House Black and House Malfoy if I have somehow offended my heir," I said, straight-faced.

Andromeda's face tightened, though I could see mirth in her eyes.

"And stop calling me that!" Nymphadora glared, "Its...weird to have someone so much younger than me calling me their 'heir.'"

"Well, I'm not going to call you by your last name," I replied, dropping the formal tone a bit. Teasing was one thing, but there was no need to be overly confrontational. "Its overly distancing and will constantly remind any polite company we converse near that you're, to put it bluntly, a half-blood. While I don't particularly care, _they will_."

Now both of Andromeda's eyes rose, doubtlessly at my at my admission, though I ignored her.

Nymphadora scowled with irritation.

I sighed, looking the metamorphamagus in the face. "How about I agree not to be too...formal with you? At least, when we're not around my parents, who _will _want to meet you by the way, or other members of proper society...in exchange, you put up with the formalities at parties and holidays and the like and I'll call you...Nym?"

It was an olive branch, one which she would hopefully take.

"And I call you, what? Dede?" Nymphadora asked a mite bit peevishly.

I shuddered, pulling a face that had the teen snorted with amusement. "No, just...no. If you really don't want to call me by my full name, call me Dez."

"Dez," Nymphadora repeated, tasting the word as she sighed. "I guess. And I don't...really want anything right now except a little spending money."

I toyed with the idea, eventually looking to the other girl's parents who gave me a tiny nod of approval. If it would grease the wheels, it was probably worth a few galleons a month. "I don't see any reason that would be out of the question."

This time, I got an actual smile from the metamorphamagus.

I replied in kind, then stood up, stretching as I luxuriated in the informality our group had slipped into. Mother would probably faint at seeing me conduct myself like such in polite company, but I couldn't bring myself to care at the moment.

"Now that that's over, would you like to meet your other cousins? They're up playing with the llama," I offered.

Nym blinked, "Llama?"

I smirked.

* * *

**In Bad Faith**

* * *

I collapsed onto my bed, mentally and physically exhausted.

I sighed, turning my head from where it had been face-down in a pillow, "Must you play with my hair?"

"But it's so soft and silky," Hestia whispered, brushing a hand across my scalp and down the length of the white blond strands.

I whimpered.

That had felt...so _good_.

"Oooh, she likes it," Flora giggled, repeating the motion.

I'd honestly balked at the idea of having the Carrow twins over after my extremely stressful day. Andromeda had been entirely too insightful, her husband providing a column of silent support for her. I'd like to think I'd convinced them, but only time would tell. The...amusement I'd indulged in afterward in attempting get a llama down two sets of stairs had been tiring in the extreme before Virgo had suggested the use of Kreacher to move the animal.

I'd arrived home sweaty, tired, and deeply questioning my own common sense.

A nearly-scalding bath and a warm meal had helped the first two, though the last was still unlikely to be resolved. Now that I was reasonably sure my newborn political problems wouldn't stab me in my back, though, I'd also been able to relax for the first time in three days.

Unfortunately, I'd also managed to forget that Hestia and Flora had scheduled a sleep over for the night.

"...she really does like it," Hestia replied quietly.

I let out a soft purr as the two took to running their fingers over my scalp and down my hair. If I'd been anything more than bone-tired and nearly asleep on my feet, I'd have stopped the two little menaces, but...

Well, it really did feel _good_.

"I'm tiiiiired," I whined. "Lemme sleeep."

The Carrows giggled again, an eerie noise that I enjoyed despite the fact that it made my neck-hairs stand on end. It was the creepy sound that I'd heard echo between trees in scary movies during my last life.

Maybe my sanity had taken a hit in addition to my common sense?

"She's all...floppy," Flora stated, raising one of my arms and letting it 'flop' back to the bed. "Mmm...you know, she doesn't play with us as much anymore. Dezzy's always tired these days, she's doing too much."

"Sorry," I managed quietly, feeling bad at the realization that they were right. I hadn't really seen much of these particular twins recently, due to my packed schedule. I sighed and leveraged my tired body up. "What do you two want to do?"

Hestia and Flora exchanged looks and broke out into identical grins and speaking as one, "Magic!"

I recovered enough energy to fake a groan and roll my eyes, "Alright! But I'm not getting up from this bed, go get my things."

The two younger girls scurried off to fulfill my orders as I struggled to make myself comfortable in my overstuffed and extra-soft bed. Now sitting upright and leaning against my headboard, cushioned by a set of pillows, I accepted elegantly carved wooden lap desk Hestia set over my legs, as well as the thick text and smaller notebook which Flora placed into my hands. Finally, they each handed over newly-sharpened quill, a well of ink, and a thick set of parchment sheets.

Eagerly, the Carrow sisters placed themselves on either side of me and quieted.

_If their parents knew they could behave themselves like this...I wonder if they'd pay me to babysit instead of their tutors?_

The girls weren't exactly the ideal pureblood children. They had a bit too much...spirit. A charitable soul would call them 'mischievous,' though victims of their specific brand of mischief might be less complimentary. I'd once been asked to wait as the two finished their lessons and had been outwardly appalled (and inwardly amused) when they'd come running from their tutor as they laughed like jackals. The man himself had trailed behind them, red in the face and limping badly.

I had decided not to ask.

"Dobby!" I called sharply.

"Missy Dezzy called?" The house elf asked, appearing with a muted 'pop.'

"Yes," I nodded, giing the elf a small smile. "Could you bring us a tray of biscuits and three cups of cocoa? Please?"

Dobby's head bobbed excitedly, "Yes Missy Dezzy, Dobby will bring them right away!"

"Thank you," I replied sincerely. The sugar and hot liquid might be a bit of a help in keeping me awake.

Moments later, my friends and I were ensconced on my bed as Dobby fidgeted nervously and waited to be dismissed. I grinned slightly and looked at the elf, "Dobby, if you're not busy, you're welcome to watch as well."

Hestia and Flora turned to look at me in surprise as the elf's eyes widened and turned suspiciously shiny. "Oh, no Miss! Dobby has...chores to be doing! Yes, chores!"

And the elf disappeared.

I sighed and shook my head. Even though Dobby was a bit more willing to treat me like an equal than the other elves of the manor (who were all devoted to my family to the point of embarrassment), I still couldn't get him to really interact with me on any real level beyond the roles of master and servant...even if we were much more polite and courteous to each other than the norm of our inter-species relationships dictated.

"Why are you so nice to it?" Hestia asked, her tone slightly arch.

"Mommy says elves aren't worth politeness," Flora concurred, nodding.

I sighed and bit back an angry retort, opting to dispense wisdom instead of alienate my friends. "How much gold does it cost to say 'please' or 'thank you?' How many galleons do you waste each time you are nice to anyone...whether they're an elf, or a goblin, or even a centaur?"

The twins blinked, confused at my seemingly random change of topic.

"It was a trick question," I tried, "Courtesy costs you nothing to give, but may cost you everything to withhold. We're purebloods...we're the best of society, right? The wealthiest, the most powerful, the landed...we have everything, right?"

Now the two nodded, still silent.

"Then...it shouldn't matter if you're nice or mean to someone," I stated, leading them to an answer, "right?"

They nodded again.

"That's why we don't have have to be polite, though," Flora replied.

"Yeah, they aren't witches and wizards like us, they can't do magic like us, they can't use wands like proper people, they aren't much better than muggles," Hestia affirmed.

"But doesn't it make you _feel better_?" I pressed, my gaze alternating between the two. "Besides, we're supposed to set the example for everyone else. If we're mean to muggleborns and magical creatures, they might be mean to each other and then we'd have to stop them fighting, right? Because if they're fighting each other, then the goblins can't guard our money. The muggleborns won't be able to work for us. We should be nice to them so that they're nice to each other and can work for us instead of just being mean to each other and fighting all the time."

_If you can't appeal to someone's good nature, then appeal to their vices. If they don't understand generosity or charity, they will understand greed and selfishness._

It was as though a light went on inside their eyes, their expressions suddenly brightening and small exclamations of 'ooh' and 'ahh,' emitting from their mouths. In that moment, I remembered why I had wanted to be a teacher so long ago.

I smiled and, as they began to work through their revelation, I inked my quill and began to free-hand sketch the rune _sowilo_ and surround it with a celtic-knot binding, flanked by a set of two 'power' runes and two 'control' runes from the Elder Futhark's magical side of the alphabet.

"Is that the...light one?" Hestia asked quietly, her eyes wide and her voice thrilled.

"Mmm," I hummed, nodding. "This is _sowilo_, the rune for the sun. I'm using it to mean 'light' in this circle and I'm going to add circles with _ansuz _and _raido_, which refer to the ancient Celtic gods and the concept of 'journey,' respectively. I'm using them to mean 'the heavens' or 'above us' and 'movement,' instead of their classic definitions."

I paused, giving the designs time to dry. The original circle was now spread out into three different circles, blending together with an intertwined binding.

Looking at Hestia and Flora, I narrowed my gaze. "Now, what are my rules?"

The twins sighed simultaneously.

"Don't try to do any runes without your help," Flora repeated dully. "If we do, you won't teach us anymore and we could get really hurt."

"Don't tell mommy or daddy," Hestia added, "Because they'd think it's too dangerous and wouldn't let us learn. Then you'd get in trouble for teaching us and couldn't study anymore."

"Good," I nodded, re-inking my quill and getting back to work. "You've seen me use this circle before, what does it do?"

"It lights things up!" Flora squeaked excitedly, her eyes locked on the design. "It makes lights and colors and things above us. It's wicked!"

I smiled. 'Wicked' was as good a description as any, I suppose. This was a little more complicated than my first circle, the one the Carrow twins had interrupted me activating years ago. It was, in the grand scheme of things, still relatively simple and would only be worth anything as a particularly interesting nightlight, even if I added an array which would let it 'charge' and run without my personal attention and control.

It was about the most complicated thing I could put together at this stage.

Granted, I could usually pull of the equivalent of a runic levitation charm and something that had a similar result to a cleaning charm, but those had to be mapped out in advance and carefully drawn to mathematical precision before I'd even chance working with them.

But this?

I felt confident I'd mastered this, at least.

"Now," I started, settling in for a small lecture as I added another circle around the entire design, fusing it together in to a single array, "this is a kind of runic construction known as Clustering. Other people like to use lines or script, but I prefer this way, it gives you more...freedom, but it also makes the array a lot more reliant on you to control it, do you understand?"

Hestia and Flora hesitated, then nodded.

"That means you control the array. You control all of the runes. You control whether it does or doesn't work. If you lose concentration, it won't work, okay?" I explained pointedly.

Another set of nods, after that same hesitation.

_Its nice to know that they're thinking about it, at least._

"Now, to activate a circle like this, you need a chant, but you also need to think about what you want to happen. In this type of rune-work, _you make the magic happen_." I said sternly, grimly serious as I tried to intimate the gravity of the situation.

They nodded again, apparently understanding.

I raised my voice slightly and said, "Nox." The word extinguished the candles around my room, leaving myself and my friends in complete darkness. I smiled slightly as they moved closer to me.

Taking a deep breath, I focused, reaching out to my magic. It wasn't a 'core' as so many had explained it in my last world...magic flowed like blood through the body of a witch or wizard, constantly moving and changing. To 'use' magic was to channel that energy, usually through a focus.

_"I saw the sun at night,_

_ I beheld the glow of the heavens,_

_ With my own eyes, light curled,_

_ And danced. Nimbus, Corona,_

_ Shooting Star. At my will,_

_ I beheld night turned into day."_

The words didn't really mean anything. It was a chant that I'd been conditioned to believe had magical power, though it was really just a tool to focus with, just as the runic array was. I pushed the thought into the back of my mind and focused on what I wanted to happen.

A spiral of blue light whispered up into the air above my bed, moving as if it were alive. Hestia and Flora breathed in deeply as they watched, their eyes widening as I observed them from the edge of my vision. Suddenly, the blue light curled up, brightening to a a dim white before shattering into a hundred miniature stars spread about my ceiling and walls.

If I hadn't been directing the display, the most I would have gotten would have been a small white 'flame' of light, but...as I'd told the twins, I was in control. The tiny particles of light and magic began to spin, twisting and spiraling to become intricate patterns.

Animals emerged, both real and imagined, highly abstract and only distantly related to their physical counterparts. The designs were stylized, an expression of my will rather than reality. As I watched them dance across the air, I concentrated further and the light constructs began to collapse, shattering back into the formless darkness.

Sparks of every color bloomed like some impossible field of wildflowers, moving and swaying with an invisible wind. Finally, after continuing the spectacle for several minutes, I allowed it to fade and dissipate one last time, relaxing as I did so. The sense of tiredness I'd tried to fight off came back with a vengeance, leaving me struggling to keep my eyes closed.

"Okay...that's all I've got for tonight," I whispered, my head drooping onto Flora's shoulder.

Or was it Hestia's?

Giving up my half-hearted struggle, I allowed the lap-desk to be pulled away and slid down into the too-soft cushions of my bed. I let myself finally fall into slumber as I felt soft fingers slide over my scalp, a vague and happy sound in my chest, much like a cat purring.

* * *

Okay, I hope everyone (or at least most of you) find this a good follow-up to last chapter. I know people were looking for some serious repercussions and I think I've made good on them. Notably, Desdemona WAS able to talk her way out of punishment, largely because she tailored her approach to the person she was talking to. The reason why she was so serious with her parents was the same reason you wear a suit to a bank when trying to get a loan: you're selling your own identity as a product, as much as pitching an idea. To get someone to believe in you, they have to feel confident that they can relate to you, that they are similar enough to you that they can be trusted...a little.

But don't think that Lucius trusts his daughter. I've dropped hints here and there, but here's some Word Of God: as much as Lucius might love Desdemona (as well as the inverse), they have an instinctual recognition of each other as 'dangerous.' They might smile and be polite, but they are at least somewhat aware that the other should not be taken lightly.

That said, Lucius is also Desdemona's father, which means he's suppose to nurture her abilities and guide her into the eventual post she will hold in society, much like Draco. Desdemona is simply jumping the gun on how quickly she's supposed to take up that station. Lucius doesn't understand 'why' really, not yet at least, but Desdemona (I) wants to prevent him from gaining further political power, using the possible antagonism between him and Dumbledore as an excuse. As to whether or not she wants to make her father proud of her? Maybe yes...maybe no.

The above reasoning also applies to the discussion with Andromeda and the Tonks family. Desdemona was more open with them because she wanted them to be able to relate to her as a child and heir to the Black estate, not just 'Desdemona Malfoy,' because they would never trust a Malfoy to follow through on their side of the deal. Yes, it was a gamble, but whether or not it will pay off has yet to be seen.

Finally, I tried to realistically depict exactly how much stress Desdemona is putting herself under. The next few chapters will be Dez attempting to learn how to 'relax' again and not study/train 24/7. Some of you have pointed out how unrealistic Dez's drive is and I understand your points, but she's also fairly convinced that her life could rest on the time she has to prepare for Hogwarts and the Second Wizarding War. Still, everyone needs a break now and then. Next chapter will be more relaxed and take place around Christmas of the last year before Draco goes to Hogwarts.

Hope you enjoyed the new chapter; Please Read & Review,

Slayer Anderson.


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